


Hamartia

by MinervaNorth



Series: Chaos Theory [1]
Category: MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: Drug Use, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Gun Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Missing Scene, Slow Burn, Team as Family, Torture, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-01
Updated: 2019-11-15
Packaged: 2021-01-16 10:54:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 19
Words: 84,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21269876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MinervaNorth/pseuds/MinervaNorth
Summary: Sergeant First Class Athena Jeanne “AJ” Harper spent the better part of her life serving her country: in the Army, in Delta Force, DXS, and now as part of the Phoenix Foundation. During that time, only two people stood out: the young man she helped recruit to the EOD Unit and her partner in Delta. But personal relations aside, AJ’s mission to steal intel from the Russians would blow back into something of epic proportions for not only her, but MacGyver, Jack, and the entire Phoenix team—enough to make her question her entire decision-making paradigm, her job, and her approach to living life.





	1. Hellôtis: The Captured

**Author's Note:**

> The term hamartia derives from the Greek ἁμαρτία, which means "to miss the mark" or "to err".
> 
> All chapters are epithets of the Greek goddess Athena.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phoenix agent AJ Harper doesn’t fail. At least, not that she can remember. But this time, when she does, she only has one phone call: Jack Dalton. But can he make it to her fast enough, before the ex-KGB agents force her to talk? Depends on how long she can withstand them, and how many hallucinations she has.

_Somewhere in Siberia  
_ **Late February**

I have no clips left. Four bullets, plus one in the chamber. I can’t feel my fingertips anymore. I don’t know how long I have left here, so I drop behind the nearest army vehicle and find my SAT phone.

The bullets are getting too close. I think I know how much longer I have here. And it’s not long.

Think strategy. You can try to make a run for it, but you won’t live long in the Siberian snowstorm. You can try to steal a vehicle, but they’ll most likely follow you. Or you die in the snowstorm. Try to disable the other cars, but they’re all behind you now, where the enemy filters in from, and with what ammo?

I have no more options. I have nothing. I have… I have nothing. I have nothing but my five—now four—bullets and my SAT phone. I never wanted this, but it’s time. My comms are down. There’s not going to be an exfil. There’s only one person I have to call. I dial, shakily. I don't even know what I can say. Not now. And never 'goodbye'.

_“—I’m not callin’ her, it’s someone… someone else, hello? Am I dreamin’, or—”_

“Walker, please. I—” I have to duck. The bullets keep flying. They yell in Russian. They’ve got to know I’m running out of time. I’m conserving ammo.

There’s a moment of silence as I know his stomach drops. _“Where are you?”_ Then another voice, a strained voice, a surprised voice. A familiar voice. _“What? Why is AJ calling? Is she okay—”_

_“Stop!” _He cries to the other voice. “_Thea, where the hell are you?”_

My heart drops at the old nickname. I never wanted to have to do this. “Last location: uh, 64 degrees, 24 minutes north, 143 degrees, 20…25 minutes east? I…” I don’t have time to explain to him. “DEFCON 1.”

I don’t hear his response, because I quickly turn around, take aim at the idiot popping up to take pot shots at me, and he cries out and drops.

_“What is she doing in Russia?” _The far away, other voice says. My heart falls. This was already worse. I don’t want him involved too. I don’t want to have to say goodbye to him too.

I pop up again. This time they’re waiting for me. I hear the bullet, just barely slowed down by my coat, rip through the skin and muscle of my left shoulder, before I feel it.

“_Jesus! Thea? Thea, are you there?”_

I realize I cry out, nearly drop the phone. I black out for a second, I think. The blood drips down, pooling on the white snow. I can’t even hold my Colt anymore, between the pain and the cold. Instead, I grasp the SAT phone and try to level my voice. This is bad. This whole thing is going to Chelsea.

_“Thea? Hey! Matty, can we get a team prepped?”_

Matty. _“I don’t have any ready. She’s the only one in that sector. I—”_

“I’ve been shot,” I say, but my voice is anything but level. “I’ve been shot. I’m almost out of ammo. The former KGB operatives coming after me are going to catch up. They’re going to interrogate me. And then they’re going to kill me. I need you to come find the intel I was sent to find. It’s a hard drive. Jack, I’m calling in Tinos.”

“_You’re… Tinos. Dammit,”_ he says, almost under his breath. _“I gotta go, man. I gotta find her.”_

“_Matty, if you have the transport, we can find her.”_ I have to hold my breath. Mac. Mac’s voice, saying he would come for me. Sight unseen. History disregarded.

“_It’s a five hour trip, if she’s even still at those coordinates. You’ll probably have to parachute in, and hope I can get an exfil to get you out.”_

Mac’s voice, zero hesitation. _“Done.”_

_“Get ready and get moving,” _Matty says.

_“She’s down? Is she…”_

_“It ain’t good, Mac.”_

He’s right, whether he realizes it or not. I should have seen it from the start. I got too damn cocky. This was gonna be the one that gets me.

“Jack, I want you to know. I need you to kn—”

When I actually call him by his real name, I can hear his heart drop. His voice wavers. He might be running. “_We’re not doin’ this.”_

“Yes, we are. It’s not your fault. I’ve known you for a long time. A long time, and you’re gonna blame yourself for this. Don’t.”

“_Dammit, Harper, don’t get sappy on me—”_

“Promise me you won’t. Promise me you’ll find the drive.”

_“I promise. Thea, we’re comin’ for you, alright? We’re comin’ for you. Stay on the line as long as you can.”_

I close my eyes, trying to fight the tears slipping. “I love you, Jack. Tell—Tell Mac…” I don’t know what to say. I’ve never thought I would have the chance.

The snow storm decides the call is over. I drop it to the snow. It’s better that way. It’s better I don’t say anything to him. I can’t drop truths on him when I’m about to die. It’s better he doesn’t know.

I touch my shaking hand against the bleeding wound, trying to get it to stop, but the cold just makes it worse. My hands, exposed to the elements, are already going numb. I’m not used to this. I’m not used to failure.

But the gunfire stops, and I know it’s almost time. I look at my Colt. There’s still time. I have one bullet left. I could just…

Someone starts screaming in Russian. I can’t quite hear him over the blizzard, but it sounds a hell of a lot like a threat. I have to make a choice. Should I use my last bullet, or attempt to survive this interrogation?

Walker said he was coming. Mac…

I lean up over the truck bed and take aim. One of the men fall, unmoving, in the snow. None of them make any sound or indication they’re coming to check on him.

I try to listen for anyone coming.

I slam my eyes shut when I feel the barrel of a gun against my temple.

“Get up.”

I stagger to my feet, and he takes my useless gun, ripping it from my hand. He grabs me by the collar of my jacket, pushing me forward, until we’re nearer to the building I had been trying to leave. Throwing me to the ground, he makes an effort to pull off my jacket and scarf. He succeeds, leaving me in just my sweater.

I’m on my knees in the snow, in the snowstorm, trying to stop the bleeding in my shoulder. Between the cold, the anxiety, and the blood loss, I’m already losing consciousness.

“Who are you?” Someone asks. There’s a barrel of a gun pressed against the back of my head.

I don’t say anything. I hear the gun cock.

“Who are you?” It’s less of a question and more of a statement.

When I don’t answer, I get a steel-toed boot to my ribs. I double over, and another boot pushes me down into the snow. It stains the white with red.

I’m not answering his questions though, so when I look up to him, he winds back with the handle of his gun.

I start kicking as soon as I wake up. Someone drags me down a hallway, my feet bouncing off the tile floor. I try to fight back, but one of the men dragging me slams me against the wall, his hand grinding into my bullet wound. They’ve taken my sweater off. I’m just in my henley now. It’s still fucking cold in this building, like they decided to save money on heating. I can feel my metal necklace, cold against my skin. I’m still shivering. If I live through this, I don’t think I’ll ever be warm again.

They grab more tightly on my arms and this time, one holds his palm against my shoulder, digging in when I don’t cooperate.

The only thing I see before they pistol whip me again is an archaic hospital bed with restraints. Even when I lose consciousness, the fear starts to take me.

I shouldn’t have wasted that last bullet on someone else.

* * *

When I wake back up, I’m looking at a faded ceiling. I try to move, but I should have known better: I’m strapped to a table. Handcuffed. I feel the metal. It’s grinding into my skin. Okay. Okay, this seems bad. This probably is bad.

They don’t know I didn’t steal the intel. They can’t find out. I can’t tell them.

But damn, is it cold in here.

As I continue to blink awake, I hear more footsteps, and I know it’s about to begin. The angriest looking one—I’m assuming he’s the ex-KGB in charge, the one from outside—says something in Russian. I just stare at him blankly and hope for the best.

I’m already hurting enough. Physically and emotionally. I know it’s probably not the best time to muse on my wounded pride, but this is the first time I’ve ever been bagged. It’s embarrassing, quite frankly.

Sounds like it’s going to be the last time, too.

I wait for the questions to start, but they don’t come. I ask him what he wants in English, and he doesn’t say a word. He doesn’t respond. He gestures with two fingers to someone definitely not authorized to be playing with that needle. I try to pull away, I try to fight, but the guy in charge approaches me, peering at me closely. I try to fight him holding me down, but the other guy shoves the needle in my arm.

I need a new tactic.

“What’ve you got there? Truth serum? You think you’re going to dose me until I talk?”

“For now,” he says in English.

I try to hide my shaking, my shivering, because he might mistake it for fear. But I’m not sure it’s truth serum. With the way I’m starting to fall asleep, I’m not sure what it is. I haven’t slept in days. In a way, they’re helping me out. I just hope Walk finds the drive.

* * *

I don’t know how long I’m under before I suddenly feel like I’m screaming back to consciousness, like they’ve dosed me with speed. My brain races. My heart races. They’ve hit me with something new, something else entirely.

When I fly my eyelids open, I see another bag, another IV, another tube running down to my other arm. Now there are two. I don’t know what’s in either one. I’m not sure I want to know. I just hear myself panting in the quiet.

Everywhere I look, it’s like I see comm trails, movement echoes. I’ve been here before. There was one time—one mission with Walk—when I drank too much coffee. That’s what it feels like. Too much coffee, not enough sleep. What the hell does that mean?

They’re dosing me, I realize. They’re dosing me.

“Hey, KGB!” I call out, unaware of where the words were coming from. He enters the room anyway. “How you doin’? You know, it’s wicked cold in here. Could use a sweater or something. You hear from my friends yet? They should be coming. They’re coming, you know. I got one last phone call off before you got me.” God, why can’t I stop? I’m fucking babbling. Stop, AJ. “Wanna know a secret? I totally can speak Russian. I just hate to. It’s the worst. How do you handle the Cyrillic alphabet? It doesn’t even make sense!” I end by yelling. Why the hell am I yelling? It’s the drugs, I realize. Whatever they’re pumping into me, it’s making me talk. It’s making me not just talk. It’s making me want to taunt.

He just rolls his eyes. “Who do you work for?”

“There’s this think tank in Los Angeles, but it’s really a quasi-governmental organization called the Phoenix Foundation. And guess what? My friends are coming to find you,” I say, my voice going all sing-song. I laugh at myself, but it comes out creepy and dark. Whatever they’re dosing me with is starting to terrify me. I can’t stop. I don’t want to stop.

I gasp for a breath as he asks, “Who are you?”

“Harper. 2562 Little Owl. Do you have cool code names? Mine’s 2562 Little Owl. You know why I’m the Little Owl? Because I can see everything.” Jesus Christ, AJ, why can’t you shut the hell up?

“What are you doing here?”

I squeeze shut my eyes, my mouth. If I don’t say anything, if I don’t open my mouth, I can’t tell him. I can’t betray myself. I already have. He has to know that one of us has to die.

“If I can’t say anything nice, I’m not going to say anything at all,” I say, the sing song voice coming back.

He lays a palm on my shoulder, then grabs my hair in his fist. He holds my head back while he grinds his hand into the bullet wound, the pain and the blood—

I cry out. I can’t help it. He pushes harder.

“She got a distress call out,” he says in Russian to his cohort. I don’t remember saying that. I don’t remember much of anything. “See what else you can find out.”

He turns up the drip on the IV on my left. Before I slip into blackness, I see what looks like the Northern Lights dancing across the windowless room. That’s new. That’s exciting. Must be a side effect. I see the blue bloom as I slip away. I want to slip away.

* * *

I feel like I’m awake for weeks. My brain keeps racing. I want to speak, but there aren’t any words. I want to move. I need to move. I’m smarter than this. I should be able to get out of here on my own.

I’ve moved and fought too much. I can feel the cuts and scrapes around my ankles, wrists. I’m hyper-aware of the pain in my shoulder. It’s too close to my lungs, my heart. I’ve since stopped bleeding but it’s not going to be good for long.

_Fight it,_ someone says.

“Fight what?”

_Bite someone. Bite anything, _another voice says. _You’re never getting out of here alive._

“No. No, I can’t do that. I’m not doing that.”

_Get yourself out. Save yourself. You’re better than this._

I know I am. I try. I try to push myself upward far enough to pull one of the IVs out of me, but the restraints are too much. I can’t get the leverage. I try to wrench myself off the table, maybe onto the floor, but it only makes the pain in my wrists and ankles worse.

_Then kill yourself. You know how._

“Maybe. Maybe I should.”

Focus on something you know. Your agent number. Your name. Focus, my own voice thinks.

The voice changes. Someone walks through the door. I recognize him. It’s like I breathe for the first time in a long time.

“Walk!… I didn’t think you were coming.”

He doesn’t say anything. He just… he walks up to me. He walks up to me, face blank, mouth not moving at all. He’s not talking. That’s what’s terrifying.

He just increases the dosage of the IV on my left. He dissipates into a cloud of blue haze. I hear screaming. I hear myself screaming. I scream until I’m hoarse.

I’m going to die here.

I never got to say goodbye to Mac.

* * *

Someone’s coming for me. I’m not sure who it is yet, but someone’s coming. I hear the voices. I hear them singing to me in the back of my head. Sometimes it’s show tunes. Other times, is original pieces about how I should kill myself.

Right now it’s Sweet Caroline… bap bap bah, good times never seemed so good, so good, so good, so good—

How long have I been here? How long have I been awake now?

I can’t feel my body anymore. I’m not sure I’m actually alive.

But I hear them. I hear the voices. They’re coming. They’ve never left.

With each rip, drip, drip, through my bloodstream, I see them, like shadows against the walls.

Someone’s talking to me. Not the voices. Someone in the room with me. Asking questions I’m answering. I don’t hear my own voice. But I know I’m answering. I’m answering, but I’m evading. I know it. I can’t give up secrets. Not now.

I try to fight it. I try to fight against myself, but I can’t. The voices sing again. I start to sing again. I’m shipping up to Boston, ohh…

I want to grasp at my skin. It feels like something’s crawling underneath it. I shiver. I’m so damn cold.

* * *

I hear the wind, I hear the blizzard, but it feels like spring. I remember this. I remember being here, on campus at MIT. It was March, 2009. 2562. Harper.

Why was I in Boston? Why was I on campus?

I remember. I remember now, I wanted to walk through the campus, the People’s Republic… seven square miles surrounded by reality. Home.

It was after the funeral, the meeting. After the meeting with Director Thornton of the Department of External Services. They wanted me. I was up for an honorable discharge, and if I decided to leave, I could join this… DXS.

It sounded promising. It sounded like Delta. I just had to think about it. I just had to mull it over. I just…

I’m wearing my dress blues. It seemed fitting at the time. The blue is almost electric. All the colors are electric. The quad is getting empty, the sun goes down. Everything appears in a haze of golden light. I might be dying. The sun might by dying. I’m not sure.

I head into the Rogers Building, intent on grabbing a coffee before I headed back to my hotel room for the night. Apparently, so had everyone else, and by the time I found myself a seat, it was the last one available in the expansive lobby.

I think about the job offer. It sounded fantastic—I could do what I was doing now, but come home when I was done. Home. Home, what was home? I don’t even have a place anymore. Just a storage facility in the Town. I guess I could take the old apartment, but it’s got too much baggage now.

I look up. He looks so young now. Granted, we’re both years older now, but he looks so young.

He paces, holding his cell phone to his ear on his shoulder and grasping what looks to be about forty-seven books in his arms. He’s trying to get in line, but something on the phone call makes him concerned. Unable to move, he tries to shift their weight, but I catch his attention and indicate he can use the empty side of the table to set down his stack.

With a nonchalant nod, he seems to thank me, then lowers his phone from his ear and hangs up the call. He stares at the phone for a moment, seemingly shell shocked. Eventually, he shakes himself out of his stupor. I remember smiling. He gives me the once over now that he has to address me, and his eyes fall quickly onto my uniform. Shades of blue, haze of blue…shadows. Shadows forming on the walls. _They’re coming for you. We’re coming for you._

2562\. Stay focused. Don’t get lost in the memory.

_Too late, _the voices say. _Too late. He’s with Jack. He’s the one holding Jack back from getting to you._

No, he’s not. I hope he’s just as fervently searching. I hope.

I should have told him. I never talked to him about Rio. I never apologized. Was it my fault? I feel like it. It’s definitely my fault.

_It was your fault._

“Are you okay?” I finally say. “I’m no MIT student, but I can tell when someone needs a pick-me-up.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m…I’m fine. Sorry, I’ll just—I can take my books—” He stutters.

“Nah, leave them there if you’re in line.”

“Really? Thanks.”

I study him as he gets to the front of the now lessening line. He’s cute. Not usually my type, but what is my type anymore? Blonde, blue eyed. Young. God, he’s young. So much younger than I ever remember. But so am I. 

I eye his books. Many are about subjects I couldn’t even pronounce, let alone understand. The one second from the top say something about chaos theory, so I pull it out and start looking at it. When he makes it back, he chuckles.

“Is it my face?” I say, turning the book from side to side. “I can’t make sense of any of this, but I’m sure you can.”

He sets his coffee down, but doesn’t sit. “Actually, it’s pretty simple. Chaos theory basically states that even through all the chaos—in math, in weather, in well, everything—there are patterns or feedback loops. Have you ever heard of the butterfly effect?”

“Yeah, that one movie with Ashton Kutcher?”

He chuckles. He looks like he needs to chuckle. “Yeah, kind of. It’s like, the littlest thing—like a butterfly flapping its wings—could cause a hurricane halfway around the world.”

“Your explanation is a lot easier than theirs,” I say, putting the book back onto his stack. “Why don’t you take five minutes and sit down? You look like you could use it.”

“I don’t want to intrude—”

“Does it look like I have anything better to do? You can talk to me more about chaos theory, or you can tell a stranger why you have that look on your face.”

He gives me a long look, like I was ready to listen to his life story. But I really was. Something about that forlorn Californian made me want to know more. It takes him about three seconds to break.

“Just… it was my grandfather. One of his old war buddies died today.”

I bristle. His eyes brush over my uniform. For a second, he realizes who he’s talking to.

“I’m so sorry. Did… did you know him?”

He shakes his head. “It just… it sucks, you know? I… I won’t bother you with it. You don’t even know me.”

“AJ Harper,” I say, holding out my hand. He shakes it, holding on to me unnecessarily. That’s what he always did: held on to me unnecessarily. Now I’m doing that to him. I never got the chance.

“AJ? A nickname, or initials?”

“Initials,” I say curtly.

“What’s it short for?”

This one gets a wink. “You’ll have to get to know me first.”

“Mac. MacGyver,” he says, nodding his head apologetically.

“Just one name, like Madonna?”

“Nope,” he says. He smiles a little.

“You’re not going to share?”

He turns it back on me. “You’ll have to get to know me first.”

* * *

I can’t sleep when it’s dark. I see the colors and I hear the voices.

I call out for Walker. At least, I try. I don’t even hear myself anymore.

Focus. 2562 Little Owl. AJ Harper. 25…62…

I let out a cry. I shouldn’t make noise, if I make noise, they’ll come for me. They’ll all come for me, and we’ll start this all over again.

* * *

But the memory comes screaming back, through the blue, through the black, and I’m in a café in Massachusetts. I feel myself sitting up ramrod straight, a symptom of the uniform, while he slouches, draped over his cup of coffee like it’s his lifeblood.

He tells me about his grandfather. Soon, he drifts the conversation towards me. He starts asking me when I joined—seventeen—and what I’m doing now.

“I just had a meeting about that, actually. I think… I think I’m going to accept this job offer.”

He just gives me a raised eyebrow over his coffee cup. Something tells me I’ve already gotten more out of him than the usual person, so I throw him a little more.

“I’m up for discharge. But I’m in town for… for a meeting that turned out to be a job interview.”

“What is it?”

I lean back into my chair. I can’t help but smirk. I can’t tell him I’m headed to DXS. Technically, it doesn’t exist.

“If I told you, I would have to kill you,” I whisper, not even batting an eye.

He starts to chuckle. He laughs until he realizes I’m serious.

“It’s… something similar to what I’m doing. It’s, well, like a private military company that… that specializes in the hard cases.”

His interest is piqued, so it seems. “You seem like the type.”

“Oh? And how do you know that?”

He gestures towards my bars. There's a few he shouldn't recognize, but he does anyway. "You've got to be Special Forces, with those ribbons. Silver Star, Distinguished Service. Is that the Defense Distinguished Service ribbon? A Purple.. Purple Heart. The only Special Forces unit right now that accepts women would be Delta. I’m assuming you’re in G Squadron.”

I take a sip of my coffee, trying to recover from that. No one’s ever called me out for being Delta quite like that.

“You are correct,” I say, smirking a little. “On all accounts.”

He seems to devolve a little. “You’re seriously in Delta Force? How badass—”

“Extremely badass,” I admit. I realize I’m absentmindedly twisting my necklace and my dog tags together. I quickly slip them back under my uniform. He catches it, but doesn’t ask.

“Why would you ever want to leave?”

“Time to move on, I guess,” I say, and I’m just realizing my reasons as I speak. “There’s not much a woman can do in special forces other than recon or surveillance. Not yet, at least.” I don’t reference the moments when we went off book. “At this new place, this—PMC, for lack of better term—I have that opportunity. The Director herself—” I emphasize that last word—“asked for me personally.”

He leans back into his chair. I don’t know if he’s impressed, confused, concerned, or all three.

“I wish I could do something like that here,” he confesses. “I just… I feel like I’m not doing enough. All my work is theoretical. I want to get my hands dirty.”

“How old are you?” I ask, accidentally cutting him off. He doesn’t seem to mind.

“I’ll be nineteen in a week.”

“Listen, Mac, I don’t mean to sound like I’m pandering to you, because I’m not. I’m not trying to fill a quota or anything.” I lean forward, and he finally looks up to me. He looks tired. He looks spent. I wonder how I look now. “Have you considered enlisting? I mean, you want hands-on work, you want problem solving. Have you considered joining the Army? We really could use people like you.”

He sits back, almost stunned, but eventually, soon, his expression changes to a serene clarity.

* * *

I think I almost stopped breathing last night. I almost wanted to. I can feel the drugs in my system. They’re itching for me to tear them out of my veins.

I could hear Jack’s voice, though, and I thought I could see Mac’s smirk. I miss them. I’m going to miss them. But I don’t have them anymore.

I hear a whimper, a moan, a scream.

* * *

I don’t know how long we talk, but I think he does, when he finally looks down at his phone.

“I gotta get back to my lab,” he says. He’s a little shocked, I think.

“What, got an experiment brewing?”

“Something like that. Hey,” his brow furrows a little. “Thank you for this. I didn’t think… “

“Didn’t think I could keep up?” I chuckle. My coffee’s long gone, but I’m not getting up now. This kid’s got my attention. I said kid. He’s not that much younger than me. But he’s so young now. He still has that spark of innocence.

“No, nothing like that. I didn’t think you’d be interested.”

“You just happen to be interesting,” I say. He just smiles. “If you need someone to talk to, I’ll be here for a while, I think.”

He sighs, waits a beat, then gets out a pen. “What’s your number?”

“I don’t really have a phone,” I confess. “Not one that I can use for personal calls, anyway.”

It doesn’t deter him. He starts writing something else down on the cafe napkin. When he pushes it towards me, I read it: Angus MacGyver, Baker House, Room 627, 362 Memorial Drive, Cambridge, MA 02139.

“Angus? Really?”

“Told you you’d have to get to know me first.” He stops, adjusting his books in his arms. “For what it’s worth, I think you should take that job.”

“I think I’m going to. Something about chaos theory.”

He chuckles. I smile as he walks away. I don’t see him again for years.

For a while, we stay in touch. It’s all in letters, notes. We never call. It’s always on paper. After training at Fort Lee, he joins a bomb disposal unit in Afghanistan. I join DXS and move to LA. I still have the box of notes, letters, photographs from when he enlisted up until they just stopped. I’ll never forget the feeling of being forgotten.

Like now, but this is my choice. I hear my own breathing. I see my breath in the cold. My teeth chatter. I can still hear myself calling out for Walker. I sound pitiful. I sound broken.

I don’t know why I’m holding on. I just need to die, to fade into obscurity. What’s that saying about dying twice: once when you die, and the second time when no one remembers your name?

They crawl across my skin. I feel them move. It makes me scream. For minutes, for hours, for days, I scream. I can’t get myself to stop. I’m hoarse, but it doesn’t deter me. I don’t know how long I’ve been screaming. It feels like eternity and then not at all.

With that, the shape lurking in the room pushes something in my mouth. For a second, I can’t breathe, and then my mouth is taped. I can’t scream for him anymore. I can’t make so much as a sound. I feel locked in, unable to move, unable to breathe, unable to scream, like my soul is alive inside a dead body.

_That’s all you are now. A dead body._


	2. Ellênia: Warmth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the hallucinations mount, AJ wonders if death is better than the Siberian hellscape, or if it’s worth hanging on. Her decision is made for her when Jack and MacGyver finally find her, but is it soon enough?

_Somewhere in Siberia?  
_ **February?**

I don’t know what’s real and what’s a nightmare. I don’t know how long I’ve been here anymore. I don’t even know what I’ve said. All I know for sure is, if I’ve been here this long, I’ve been disavowed. Jack’s not coming for me. Mac’s not coming for me, either.

Disavowed. Was I ever a part of the U.S. Government to begin with? Have I always been here in this cycle of awake and asleep? Which was the nightmare? Am I dead or am I just living in a hellscape?

The voices tell me stop breathing. I feel like I could will my body to stop. It would be so much easier, wouldn’t it?

Walk’s not coming. _Jack’s not coming. No one’s coming. Not even—_

I should stop breathing. Right? I could just stop breathing. Just stop. It’s not going to matter.

Both IVs still drip into my arms. I know they should be tubes, but they look like snakes, colorful snakes, their fangs sunk into my skin, thrusting their poison into my bloodstream.

They jolt. They shift, like the frame rate of my eyes change. From needles to fangs. Venom back to drugs. It burns. It burns until it goes numb.

I don’t know what they’re giving me. They. Them. Who? I don’t know. Sometimes they look like people. Sometimes they look like blackness. Why am I still here, if I talked, though? Am I dead? I hope this isn’t death. I don’t want this for eternity.

Maybe this is eternity. Maybe I’m already living it. Maybe this is what I’ve always deserved. I’ve killed enough people.

If this is Hell, though, it’s cold, not warm. I’m so cold. I don’t even have enough room to shiver. I try to breathe, but the bullet wound just throbs. Wait, I got shot? What happened? I look at my shoulder. The blood looks blue. Electric blue.

I just want to go. I feel like I’m drowning. What was the circle of Hell where Dante visited the River Styx? Wasn’t that the wrathful? I want to sink below the waters, but I don’t know if they’ll let me.

Maybe I can’t die. Maybe they made me immortal. Can the Russians do that? Do they have that power? Will they torture me forever, just to play with me?

Someone yells my name. I’ve heard it before. I’ve heard it all before. I’ve heard what I thought was my mom calling for me, but she’s been dead for years. Maybe I’ve been dead for years.

I can’t focus my eyes. A shape comes back, messes with my IVs. I try to cry out, tell them to stop, but my mouth doesn’t feel like it can even open. Maybe I lost my teeth. Maybe I lost my tongue. Maybe that’s why I can’t talk. I feel tears run out of my eyes.

I feel the rush, the drowsiness hitting me like a ton of bricks.

They move to the other side. I feel another rush, like they increased my dosage. They increased it too much, they opened the flood. The high comes for me like a forgotten friend as the shadow disappears, headed for the door.

They’re going to kill me by overdose. I shouldn’t have wasted that bullet. I should have used it on myself.

I try to gasp, nearly arching into the drug, and for a second, I can’t breathe. I try, I can’t gasp though, I can’t bring any air inside me. Something prevents it.

I find myself stacking my breaths through my nose like my lungs won’t expand enough. Everything has comm trails again, but they’re different. They’re ghosts. _Auras, _my mind says. My mind goes blank. I shake harder than I have before. Everything feels like shocks, electric. After what feels like eternity, it stops. I feel gone, until I’m not. I’m awake again. I think. I want to sleep. Am I asleep? I’m tired. I’m so tired. My entire body throbs. It’s sharp, then like a heavy, dull weight, then back to sharp pain, then the weight. There’s something around my neck, scratching me, hanging off me. I can’t remember what it is.

The beginning of the end. Let me die, let me die. I’m already dead. It’s not worth fighting anymore. Why can’t I die? 25…2562. Harper. Why won’t I die? A little part of my soul keeps hanging on.

My head pounds, I want to fall asleep, but I can’t. I see shapes, dancing along the backs of my eyelids. Colors start to swirl. Dark blue. Light blue. Shapes again. _They’re coming for you. _The voices are back. _We never left._

Something crawls on me. I look down. There’s nothing there. It’s crawling underneath my skin. Little footsteps, itching and making me squirm.

I open my eyes. I didn’t realize I shut them. I’m so damn tired. _Sleep_. I can’t. I can’t sleep. I haven’t slept. Not in days, maybe years. _You could kill yourself. _I wish. I wish I could, but I can’t feel my fingertips anymore. Then the gunshot wound. Bang, bang, you’re dead.

_Maybe that’s why you can’t breathe right. Maybe you’re already dead._

The shadow people are back. Made of clouds, made of darkness. Sometimes they have faces. Most times they don’t. Something’s coming, they tell each other, in their shadow language. Crawling up the walls. They reach for me.

Someone’s coming. _Someone’s coming, someone’s coming._

Focus. Focus, AJ, focus on something you know for sure. 2562. 2562 Little Owl.

Yelling, louder. My name? I don’t know. There’s gunfire, and I can’t tell where it’s coming from. It’s coming from everywhere, I think. Maybe I’m the one shooting.

My chest starts to hurt again. Between my shoulder, between the drugs, I’m not sure what the cause is. Physical or pharmaceutical. It’s like I’m gasping for air, but my heart doesn’t care. It doesn’t want to beat anymore. It’s erratic, it comes and goes.

There’s a reason I can’t die. It’s on the tip of my tongue. The edge of my memory.

The gunfire gets louder until it sounds like it’s on top of me. My eyesight goes in and out of focus, but it looks like someone slams open the door on the shadow and shoots him point blank.

The gunfire stops. At least, I can’t hear it anymore. The voices are back. They don’t sound like the ones from before. The ones I think that are in my head. Shadow people lurk in the corners. They climb up the blue, the walls, they climb up backwards, their heads spinning, they’re on the ceiling. They look like spiders, spider people, I see their fangs like snakes. They threaten to pull me into their shadow world. A black hole forms on the ceiling. They’re trying to pull me into it. It spins, beckoning me.

“AJ! Oh my God. AJ, hey, can you hear me?”

“Good God, Mac. Is she…? Damn. She’s lost a lot of blood…”

I can hear it, but I don’t respond. It’s a trick. It’s all a trick. It’s all… it’s all a trick. I feel myself shaking. Why am I shaking? Cold, hot, sweating. It’s the drugs. _Fight back. Don’t let them take you._

Someone pulls at the tape, then pulls the gag from my mouth. I instinctively start coughing, gasping for breath. I can’t get enough air. I can’t hold my head up anymore.

2562 Little Owl. AJ Harper. It’s not a dream. This is your life now.

Someone grabs at the IVs. They… they pull them out? It’s a trick. It’s not happening. They’re just trying to make you think so. _Who?_ They. They are. I wait for the rush. I wait for the extra dosage. It doesn’t come. I try to focus my eyes in the haze. Someone touches me. I try to wrench away. _Fight them. They’re not here to help._ Get away from me, don’t touch me, don’t fucking—

“Hey! Harps, c’mon, it’s me—”

I pause, my eyes slipping in and out of focus. I squint. Blue eyes. Blond hair peeking out of a knit hat. I know that face. I’ve seen it before. It’s been so long, though. So long. He tries to smile. I’m unconvinced.

“M-Mac…? Y-you came.”

But he might be here. I might live through this. Either that, or they’re going to just finally let me die. Just let me die, please. Let me die. It’s a nightmare, and they won’t let me die.

“Harps, I need you to look at me. Open your eyes. Please, open your eyes.”

His voice, though, he sounds pleading. He sounds terrified. He says the last sentence like a prayer.

He touches a hand to my face, guiding it back to look at him. He stares at me, hard, until he seemingly gets the information he wants. What does he want? Maybe he’s not here. I feel his fingers, though. I feel him against my skin. It’s gentle. It’s scorching. More importantly, it’s corporeal. He might not be a hallucination. I can feel him there. He’s here. He came for me.

“It’s a stimulant or a hallucinogen,” he says. “Her pupils are dilated.”

His hand is so warm. He feels like fire. I don’t remember what fire feels like. Is that him, or am I hallucinating? I’m so cold. I hear another voice. A weak, hoarse voice, one used to screaming. The voice keeps muttering the same thing: “2562. Little Owl. Harper.”

I realize the voice is mine.

“What does she need?” Walk asks. He’s in all black. He’s got a lot of guns. It reminds me of Delta. It feels like a century ago. Walk. Walker is here; he came for me. I’m so cold. So cold.

“That’s right, baby, I came. You think I wasn’t gonna?” He comes further into my line of vision. He’s trying to smile. It’s not working.

“AJ. Hey, do you know what they gave you? Did they tell you?” Mac asks, pushing my hair back from my face. It’s wet and matted. I thought I tore it out centuries ago. I can’t lay still. It’s like my veins and arteries are made of fire and they want to crawl their way out.

“Watch… watch out… t-the shadow people,” I hear the voice say. A disembodied voice. But Mac can hear it. I see his face fall. Something’s wrong. Something’s very wrong. “The shadow people. Find the drive… the drive.”

“Man, this is not good, I can hear Mother Russia stompin’ its way towards us. We gotta get her the hell outta here,” Jack says. He looks down at me. His expression changes. “Damn, Mac. Her lips are blue.”

“I know. I know. I need time to stabilize her,” Mac insists, pulling the handcuffs out of the bloody skin on my wrists. He has to extricate the too-tight bonds from the bloody ridges in my skin. I can barely move. My skin feels like cement, my hands like rubber. I can hear my heartbeat in my head. Blue, dark blue. Northern lights. Head pounds. Gasping for air. Can’t stop moving. The shadow people multiply. They’re an army around the room. They stare at me. They don’t have faces, just gaping, oozing, bleeding wounds where their eyes are supposed to be.

No air comes. I don’t think there’s any more air in this room. It’s all gone now. All gone. It starts as a shiver. I shiver until it’s not shivers anymore. Something electric surges through my body. That’s what they’re here for. This is their endgame. I try to cry out but nothing’s there. And then there’s black. Shadows. Screaming.

“Dammit, Jack, keep her steady!”

Gentle hands. Not controlling hands. Just making sure I don’t fall off the table. I don’t know how long I seize. I don’t know how long I have left. It’s already been too long.

Jack seems to know. He seems to have answers for once.

“I’ve seen this before. It’s barbs and amphetamines. Interrogation trick. Called the Waking Nightmare. Brain Detail. Twilight Zone. She’s overdosin’, Mac. Probably hallucinatin’. It’s… it’s a miracle she’s still alive.”

Someone holds me, gently, steady. I’m still shaking. I’m so tired. Let me die.

My shoulder throbs harder than before. I don’t know why. All of my bones are brittle, like pieces of scrap wood in a kindergarten craft project. One wrong move, and I could snap.

“AJ. AJ, you’re not going to die,” Mac says. His voice is so calm. How can he be so calm?

I try to open my eyes again. Everything still has a blue hue. I still can’t breathe right. The shadow people are building an army.

“Hurry up, Mac. She’s goin’ down quick. Real quick.”

So cold. So cold, so tired. Swirls of blue. Voices. They’re talking, they’re ghosts behind the veil. They’re waiting for me. The shadow people. The blue. I feel the tightness in my chest. We’ve got to get the data. “The drive. We have to get it.”

“Dammit, Thea, shut up,” Jack mutters. Ghosts behind them. They’re here.

Bullets ping off metal. I can’t move anyway. Jack shoots something, but it looks like a “BANG!” sign. Everything goes dark for a moment, and I realize Mac shields me. I don’t know why. I’m dead anyway. The wispy shadow in the doorway disappears.

Fingers touch my wrist. Not Jack. Someone else. I don’t see anyone. I just see shadows. I hear breathing. I don’t think it’s mine. I don’t think I remember how to breathe. Just suddenly, I’ve stopped without realizing it. I don’t know how long I’ve gone without breathing, but I can’t bring myself to care. I can finally start to let go.

“Her heartbeat is all off. She… I think she’s slipping into V-Fib.”

“Mac, I don’t think she’s breathing,” Jack mutters. “Why the hell—”

He’s yelling. He’s giving away our position. “Shut up, and let me think! I need— what do I need, dammit—”

For the first time in a long time, I feel unconsciousness coming. Real unconsciousness. Permanence. It’s skirting what’s left of my vision. It’s coming for me. They’re coming for me. I don’t think I’m breathing. I can’t breathe. Then I slip back in from the dark. All the voices sound low and slow, like I’m moving too fast for them. Someone checks my pulse.

“We got a heartbeat back.” I’m breathing again. Wait, I’m not. But it’s like I can’t do it on my own. Like my body forgot how. It takes everything in me to remember I have to breathe. Take in air, exhale. Breathe in, breathe out. It hurts. It burns. It all burns.

“Man, I don’t know how that worked,” Jack says.

Mac doesn’t respond. I just open my eyes, again, and he breathes in, like he had been holding his own breath. I can see his blue eyes. They’re the only color I can see. Everything else is grey. Grey and blue.

“We need to get her out of here. Now.”

I wish I had died before. Blue on blue, pain on pain. I gasp for air, and even with it readily available, it doesn’t feel right. I want to disintegrate. I want to sleep.

“The… the data,” I hear myself saying. “We gotta get… we gotta get the data, Mac, or else this… this was for nothing.”

“No, AJ,” Mac says. “We’ve got to get you out. I’m not going to let you die for damn intel.”

I ignore him. I gasp for air again as the hallucinations threaten to come back. “We need that hard drive. The drive…”

“Forget it. This is an extraction,” Jack says, changing his clip. I think. My eyesight keeps crossing and uncrossing. My mind goes blank again, and it feels like I’m floating. I can’t think of words. I don’t know how to move my mouth. All I know is pain and cold.

“Walker. Walk, please—”

He doesn’t care. “I’ll cover your exit, draw their fire.” He disappears. Was he even there to begin with? Someone picks me up. I’m weightless. All I see is blue. I grasp onto the jacket of whoever’s carrying me. I just shake. Every part of me is numb.

We get to what I think is a hallway—it shifts under his feet as he sets me on the ground. I slump to the floor next to either a dead or unconscious body. In his unmoving hand, he holds a gun. I recognize it. It’s my Colt. They must have reloaded it.

I slip it out from under his fingertips. I try to breathe. The drugs still course through my bloodstream. I can almost feel it. Can almost see it crawling through my bloodstream.

“No. No, AJ, no guns,” he says, pulling the guy’s jacket off.

“It’s my gun. I need it—”

“No, you don’t,” he says, trying to slip it from out of my fingertips. I hold tightly to the piece, because I hear footsteps. Mac freezes, and we hear Russian over a radio. I see in double vision. He starts to draw a gun. I shoot at both foreheads. The second one makes contact. I try to shoot again, but it clicks, like something’s wrong with it. It doesn’t matter. The Russian flutters away, like he was never there.

“That… that’s why.”

He grumbles, helping me put on the coat after taking the gun away and slipping it into his waistband. I don’t know where we’re going. I just lay down on the frigid concrete.

He draws my arm around his shoulders. I can’t feel my feet but try to shuffle forward anyway. The hallway shifts. Like that sci-fi thriller about invading someone’s dreams, it feels like we’re floating, walking on the ceiling.

“We’re almost there.” We’re headed to the door, then we’re out. I clutch onto him. The blue clouds around my eyes starts creeping into my periphery. Spots start clouding my sight.

I can’t move my feet any longer. He’s left dragging me. He grasps my hip, trying to drag me upward, but I can’t feel it anymore. I can’t. I can’t. I drop, the pain in my chest blooming.

“Mac… I can’t.”

“Yes, you can. AJ, c’mon. You’ve made it this far, you’re not quitting now.” With that, I’m in his arms again. I feel too small. I’m already a half-ghost.

When the door opens, and the cold air smashes into my bare skin, I can’t breathe. Too much white, too much light. I can’t see the blue. I don’t breathe again until I think we end up in a vehicle of some sort.

Mac says something about being right back, about hotwiring, about me holding on. Jack gets me inside the car, I think.

“Walker…. Walk. Did… the drive, Jack—”

Mac comes back, sliding into the seat next to me.

“Dammit, Thea!” He calls from the driver’s seat. We’re already moving. “Tell her to forget the damn drive.”

Mac doesn’t repeat Jack’s statement. He’s calmer than Jack. I realize I’m laying across his lap. He pulls my hair back from my face. Cold, wet with sweat. Maybe blood. I feel like I’m having another seizure, but I think I’m just shivering. But I have to be getting better. The shivering is slowing down.

“Mac, I’m so tired.”

“Hey. I’ve got you. You’re gonna be okay.” I believe him. I actually believe him.

“How far?” Jack asks.

“Back to the safehouse in Ust-Nera. Half an hour?”

I realize I’m not shivering anymore. My skin starts to burn, but it doesn’t feel right. I’m still cold. Maybe I’m getting better. But I grasp onto the darkness, feeling it slipping towards me. Mac takes off his gloves, I think, and holds my hand between his, unmoving. He still feels like fire. I feel like ice.

I’m suddenly aware of my breathing. I can’t seem to get enough. Everything just feels shallow. Shallow and numb. Mac touches his fingers to my neck. He talks. He’s quiet. He’s talking to Jack.

“Her pulse is weak. She’s stopped shivering. She’s too cold. Make that twenty minutes, okay?”

I think I feel the truck speed up. It’s hard to tell.

“Hey, AJ? You’re gonna have to stay awake,” he says. I’m too tired. I start to close my eyes, but he touches his fiery hand to my cheek. “AJ. Open your eyes. Do it.”

I do, I listen to him. But all I see are wisps of blue shadow dancing.

“Mac. You came. You came too.”

“I… I did,” he says, pushing my hair from my face. I try to look at him, but I can’t focus. “What, you didn’t think I would?”

“I-I didn’t,” I hear myself say. “I didn’t.”

He doesn’t respond. Instead, he takes a look at my wrists, still bloody from the metal restraints. I can see from his expression he’s worried. I remember that look. It’s been a while, but I’ve seen it.

It’s been years. It’s been since Rio. The last time I saw him, he was whisked off to the hospital wing at Phoenix. I was afraid he was going to die. It took me days to be told his status. His and Jack’s. I can barely remember it now.

“Talk to me, AJ. What did you want to tell me? What were you going to tell me on the phone?” He asks quietly.

“I can’t, Mac. I-I can’t tell you now.”

He looks taken aback for some reason. I don’t know where it comes from. He pulls me up, and I’m leaning into his shoulder. I feel the heat, his heat, as he pulls a blanket up around me. He touches my neck, two fingers, searching for something. I lull against him.

“Her pulse is too weak,” he mutters. My hand, still bloody, grips his coat. He puts his hand over mine.

“There’s gotta be something we can do,” Jack says.

“Yeah, drive faster.” He adjusts me, moves me closer. I can’t hold on anymore, and my hand starts to slip. He clasps it tightly in his. He’s whispering. I can barely hear him. “AJ, please stay awake. Don’t close your eyes. Hey. Can you hear me? AJ. AJ—”

I’ve never been this close to him, I realize. After all this time.

At least now I’ll have a proper burial.


	3. Alalkomenêis: The Defenders

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AJ might be out of captivity, but she’s far from safety. As she struggles to hold on as they wait for exfil, AJ is reminded of the last time she saw either of them— the horrible op in Rio de Janeiro.

_Unknown  
_ **Unknown**

I wake up violently. I didn’t know I had been asleep. Or unconscious. My hands aren’t bound. I’m not tied up. I need to leave, I need to escape—how am I even alive? My skin burns. I’m too warm, everything’s burning. I want to rip it off.

“AJ, you need to stop. Don’t—don’t fight—hey!”

My eyes finally focus. I can’t believe… it’s been since Rio—

“Mac?”

He smiles. I’m not convinced. “AJ. Move slow,” Mac says, but I can barely move at all. I’m just cold. I’m so cold, I burn. “You’re hypothermic. How do you feel?”

“Did you… did you get the drive?” I ask. At least I’m not shivering anymore.

Jack and Mac share a long look.

“I failed. T-the mission… failed,” I hear myself say. I nearly miss the drug that made me want to fall asleep. I want to, but know I shouldn’t. I should be dead. Why am I not dead?

“She’s delirious,” Mac says. I know I shouldn’t have heard him, but I know he’s right. “Help me patch her up.”

He helps me sit up, but I’m so weak, I fall back into him. He pushes my hair out of the way and helps Jack pull off my shirt. Jack hisses through his teeth.

“Damn, girl, you got lucky.”

“I think her shoulder’s dislocated,” Mac says. “Probably from the seizures. I’m going to have to pop it back into place.”

I hear his words, but they don’t really lock into my brain. Nothing feels real. I’m surprised the voices aren’t here. No shadow people. Not yet. I still see the blue, like clouds. Everything is out of focus, like a bad camera filter. I feel it. I feel like I’m going to fall back down, deep into the visions. But for now, I’m deteriorating.

“This is going to suck,” Mac says. I feel his hands near my bullet wound. My bones shift when he pushes against me. They shift painfully, so painful that I nearly black out again, but then there’s a release. My eyesight comes back in waves of blue.

I have no body strength left, but I feel Mac, holding me up, as I lean into him. It hurts to breathe.

“The bullet’s a through and through,” Mac says when I can finally hear his words again. “The bleeding stopped, but we’ve gotta clean it until we can get her home.”

“What d’you need from me?” Jack asks.

“Boil some water, then get me the medical kit.”

I reach out and grab Jack before he leaves. There’s blood on my hand. Immediately, his smug smirk shifts to concern.

“Thanks, Walk.”

“Hey. We were comin’ whether Matty let us or not. I ain’t lettin’ you out in the cold. Pun intended.”

I chuckle, but it hurts. My hand slides from his, falling to the floor, like I have no bones left. I see my knuckles. They’re red, they’re worn, they’re swollen. My wrists, rimmed in red. Mac pulls the blanket over us while we wait for Jack. He’s just so damn warm. I forgot when warm felt like. I nearly settle into him. He doesn’t seem to mind. Instead, he inspects my wrists. I’m hyper-aware of his hands. They come away bloody when he touches where the metal cut into me. Almost two perfect circles around my wrists, as they threatened to cut my veins. I can still feel them. They’re not there anymore.

I lick my chapped lips. “I’m glad you came, too.”

He almost seems taken aback for a second, as I lean into his shoulder and shiver; it takes him a while before he speaks again. He pulls the blanket up around the two of us.

“We both couldn’t leave you. Plus, I owe you from Rio.”

I’m shocked. We’ve never talked about Rio.

“It was my fault,” he says. “I shouldn’t have let the bomb go off.” I don’t know how it was his fault, but I’m not willing to fight him. In the meantime, I let my consciousness shift, in and out; I lull against Mac, and I’m aware of how warm he is. I’m aware of how not warm I am.

He pushes my hair back from my face, his skin burning mine. Now, after years of knowing him, being this close felt wrong. It still feels like we barely know each other. He’s still the kid I met in Boston and stole a little part of me.

“I’m not gonna let you die,” he whispers. It’s not for me. It’s for him. He starts to say something else, but I think Jack’s back.

“Let me get some more,“ Jack says, and Mac tries to clean some of the blood I expect is on my face. I can’t focus my eyes on him, but it doesn’t matter. I want to fall back asleep, but he won’t let me. Each time I do, he wipes my face, my brow.

I feel warm water on my skin, dull pain as Mac bandages me up, tapes on gauze. My wrists, my chest, my ankles, my head. Where the needles went in. Their skin searing mine. I’m so damn cold.

“How’s her blood pressure?” Jack asks, and Mac touches my neck. After a minute or two, he finally sighs.

“I can’t feel anything, which means systolic is below 80. And the symptoms of blood loss are nearly the same as hypothermia, so that isn’t gonna help us much.”

“Should we give her blood or something?” Jack asks.

“A small transfusion wouldn’t hurt,” Mac says. “But I don’t know her blood type.”

“A Negative,” Jack says. He’s already rolling up his sleeve.

Before I realize it, I’m leaning against part of the wall with Jack next to me. Somehow Mac had rigged up some sort of transfusion apparatus that I don’t quite understand right now.

“How did you remember her blood type?” Mac asks in disbelief as he brings another blanket to me, pulling it around my shoulders. His hand lingers on me. “You can’t even remember your own social security number.”

“I know the 7652 part,” he grumbles.

“451-96-7652,” I say, feeling the shivering starting to come back. I don’t know if that’s good or bad.

“How does she know your social, but you don’t?” Mac asks.

“Seriously, man. She’s a computer. Besides, you forget there was a time before you.”

With that, I lean into Jack, and it just seems to solidify whatever point he was trying to make to Mac. I try to focus my eyes, but the wood floor of the janky safehouse has me dizzy.

“With all those drugs in her system, I’m gonna try to find some de-icer,” Mac says.

“What are you gonna do with that?”

Mac tosses some more wood into the fireplace. “Uh, de-icer actually contains a high quantity of calcium chloride. If I can separate out the other chemicals, which, I should be able to with the proper stoichiometry—”

“Short version.”

“I can make activated charcoal. I don’t know how much it’ll help, but I’m sure it’s better than nothing. She really needs naloxone, but there’s no way I can synthesize it without a lab.”

“You do you, brother,” he says. Mac’s off again, leaving Jack and I alone.

“Hey, kid,” Jack says, lowering his voice. Jack slips his arm around me, keeping me steady. I’m shivering again. I can’t stop shivering.

“I-I didn’t th-think…”

“I wasn’t gonna leave you like that,” he murmurs. “C’mon. You know me better. I practically raised you.”

I chuckle, because he’s not far off. “Y-you have a h-habit of finding lost ch-children.”

As I shiver, he pulls me closer into him. I’m almost in his lap.

“You know, Mac wouldn’t have left you, either.”

“Why?”

“You know why.”

“I don’t, Walk. I don’t.” And with that, I’m ready to go back to sleep, and they finally let me.

* * *

I wake up to angry yelling and an excruciating headache. Nothing feels right. I don’t feel better. I feel worse. The spots over my vision are back.

_“I’m sorry. We can’t get an exfil out of there in the blizzard. You’re going to have to wait it out.”_

“She’s been through enough, dammit! She’s still ridin’ the edges of an overdose!” Jack explodes. He’s pacing. He can’t see that I’m awake. I’m not sure I’m awake. I’m not even sure if I’m alive.

Mac’s doing something in the fireplace. It’s probably one of his weird ideas again.

“Matty. Listen. We’re only gonna last another 18 hours at least….” Mac drifts. So do I. “She’s off the drugs, but she’s still at risk for overdosing. We don’t have any idea how much she’s got in her system. She’s going to need serious medical attention that we cannot give. So, if you want your agents back alive, we’re going to need that exfil.”

There’s silence. There’s silence, and I groan, shifting my weight.

“She’s awake,” I hear Jack murmur.

“_Take care of her. I’ll make some calls.”_

I try to make myself smaller, under the blankets, my hair flopping over my face. Everything moves with comm trails. I’m not sure if this is a dream or real life. Although the rising nausea in my stomach is fairly real.

No one speaks. No one speaks loud enough for me to hear, at least. It’s unsettling. _What’s unsettling?_

The voices are back. They were gone, and now they’re back. I don’t know what to do, I don’t know—

“Hey, AJ—”

I jump. I try to shield myself. Pain. It feels raw this time. It feels real. Maybe the escape wasn’t a dream. Maybe we’re out now. Maybe we can survive this.

“No, no, you’re fine, you’re fine. Hey…”

I didn’t see the KGB officer’s face in front of me. I didn’t. It wasn’t him. The voices… they’re gone.

The baby blues of Angus MacGyver reassure me of that as he pulls my hands away from my face. He guides them back down, under my blankets. With a flick of his fingers, my hair flips from where it had slid in front of my eyes. I probably look wild. I feel wild.

I don’t want to talk to him. I don’t want anything to do with him, but I can’t really be picky in this survival situation, now can I? I didn’t even expect to be alive.

He holds up a finger indicating me to wait, then finds the edging of one of my blankets. Popping open his Swiss Army knife, he cuts off a length, slides it under my hair, then ties it back.

“There. I’m sorry I scared you.”

“You got my message,” I say through the shivering. “You and Walker. You got it.”

“We did,” he says. He looks so different now. Compared to the night we met, he’s almost a different person. Even through everything, though, his eyes are the same. Those blue eyes. “Of course we did. Jack was ready to burn down half of Russia to find you.”

“We’re even now,” he calls from the other side of the room. “You and me, clean slate. Tinos, gone.”

“I don’t know what happened in Tinos, and he won’t tell me,” Mac says, glancing from me to Jack and then back again.

“We have Cairo,” Jack says, pointing to Mac. “Her and I have Tinos. All three of us have Rio,” he muses.

I shiver, feeling the deep cold. I shiver harder, and I realize I can’t stop.

“Mac,” I say through my clenched teeth. “Mac, please, I—” I can’t focus my eyes. I’m slipping into tunnel vision.

“Jack, she’s seizing again—”

This one is hard. I don’t remember it. When I regain consciousness, everything looks just barely not right, like the world had shifted on its axis. But Jack continues yelling. This time, directed at Mac.

“I’m gonna call her back. I’m gonna call her back and—and demand we get that exfil.”

“And what good is that gonna do?” Mac says, still kneeling next to me. He checks my forehead. His hand is so warm, but the pressure hurts near my eye. It must be a bruise. “It’s a snowstorm! We can’t stop it!”

“Can’t you, I don’t know, build a helicopter?”

“Jack, be reasonable.”

“I’m not gonna be reasonable! It’s Thea! It’s like—” Jack cuts himself off, but continues pacing.

“It’s like what, Jack?” Mac urges.

“It’s like if somethin’ happened to you. Sure as hell I’d be doin’ the same damn thing. She’s family. I don’t like this. I’m supposed to protect her.”

“I know. I know you are. I am too,” Mac says. “You have to be patient.”

“She’s havin’ seizures, man! They—they dosed her! Her fuckin’ heart stopped! Three and a half days before we got to her, Mac! She… she might not…”

“She’ll be fine,” Mac says quietly, checking my pulse again. He looks terrified when he’s not facing Jack and doesn’t know I can see his expression. “She’s just gonna need time. She’ll be fine.”

“Seizures, man!”

Mac holds out his hand, attempting to calm Jack down. It’s interesting to see. That used to be my job. That used to be me. I already start to drift, although Mac tells me not to. I can’t help it. I can’t keep awake. I don’t try.

* * *

I wake up as I throw up. It’s all very jarring, and with each heave I want to go again. Wave after wave hits until I’m breathing hard, hoarse, and my whole body throbs. Jack leans me back, carefully, into where I was laying again. The entire room spins. For a second, I feel like I’m going to puke again. I slip into a fetal position, leaning on my good arm. I still shake.

Mac touches a hand to my forehead, and all I feel is warmth. I keep wanting to fall asleep, but he keeps saying my name until I open my eyes.

“Hey,” he says quietly. “I need you to stay awake. Talk to me. Tell me what’s been going on.”

My lips are cracked. I try to lick them, but I can’t. Jack appears with something to drink, and although it’s lukewarm, it burns going down my throat. I sputter a little, but I recover.

“Can you move onto your back?” He asks, and albeit painfully, I shift until I’m staring at the rough ceiling. “You know, we just got out of Amsterdam. We were disavowed. My buddy Bozer—you remember me talking about Bozer, right?—well, he’s working for Phoenix now, and it’s his fault we even got out of it.”

I chuckle. I remember him talking about Bozer. I remember the Incident. I know he’s his closest, oldest friend.

“What have you been up to? It’s been years since we talked.”

He’s pandering to me, but I’m too exhausted to call him out on it. I’m still mad at him, but I don’t have the energy to deal with it right now. He checks my shoulder, the bullet wound, then wraps it back up.

I mentally skip Rio. “Work. DX—Phoenix. I’m—I’m barely home anymore,” I try. My voice is still hoarse. I was screaming for too long. “I… I can’t seem to—” He presses a hand to my side, and whatever he does makes me cry out.

Still, I feel like my brain’s slowed down. Maybe that’s a good thing.

“She’s got broken ribs too,” he says, seemingly to Jack. “The throwing up and seizures definitely didn’t help. Her breathing is… it’s too slow.” Back to me. “So, no time for a boyfriend or girlfriend?”

“Neither, unfortunately.” I try to make a joke, but nothing comes to me. I just see spots and haze.

Something sets him off too. “AJ, keep talking to me.” Panic.

“I don’t know what to say to you,” I admit, gasping for breath. I want to go back to sleep. I want to go back to sleep, but Mac lightly smacks my face to wake me up.

“AJ. Don’t do this to me. I can’t lose you again.”

It’s quiet. I can hear my heartbeat again. I hear him speaking, but I can’t understand him. Everything moves too slowly. Everything throbs. Something doesn’t feel right, but I can’t place it. Oh. That’s what it is. I don’t think my heart’s beating again. Everything goes black.

They hold me up. They’re forcing some black liquid down my throat. They. They. I don’t see their faces anymore. They’re made of shadows.

If this is what death feels like, I don’t want it anymore. I don’t want this.

I can’t remember. I want to go back.

Someone picks me up. I feel like I’ve been run over by a Russian bus, but something feels empty. It feels hollow. Everything is sharp and loud.

“We need to get her stable!” Mac yells.

I’m so cold. It’s so loud. Something buzzes. It’s louder than buzzing.

It might be a helicopter. I can’t be positive. I’m laid down somewhere. I can’t feel anything. I’m numb. But I can hear Mac. He’s close. He’s trying. I am too.

“Mac, I don’t wanna die,” I feel like I scream, but he leans down to listen to me over the screeching. “Don’t let me die.”

“I’m not gonna let you die. AJ, you need to stay awake. Hey. Hey—”

Everything is on fire. Please. Please, let them be okay. I don’t care about me. I need them. I need both of them.

I have to go back to Rio—

* * *

The distress call came through the secure line around midnight. I hopped on my exfil out of São Paulo, got the call, shouldered my sniper rifle, and redirected to Rio de Janeiro.

I make my way through the favelas, the rim of my ball cap pulled low. All I have is a location and an S.O.S. Some DXS agents were in trouble, and I had to get them out of it.

I swear I hear a winter wind blowing. Someone’s not breathing. It might be me. I feel a hand in mine. I don’t know whose.

I keep walking. I can’t stop now. Taking a running jump, I climb up onto one of the roofs of the favelas. In the darkness, it’s not hard to jump from roof to roof without so much as a noise. I adjust the bag over my shoulder, get more slack on my scarf and keep moving.

I keep heading west, checking my GPS on my satellite phone, until I’m nearly on top of wherever their last location was.

That was two hours ago. I doubt they’ll even still be there.

But all’s quiet on the western front. This section of the favela doesn’t even have windows. It’s shut up tight. I have zero visibility, regardless of location. Quickly, I hop to the next roof. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. I can’t get a single fucking sight line.

It’s my worst nightmare.

I turn my hat backwards, slip my sniper rifle away, pull out both my handguns, and jump down from the roof. There were two possible entry points. One was shrouded in light. I avoid that one and head for the door in darkness.

For some reason, no one seems to be there. I stick to the shadows. There’s plenty to stick to.

The small hallway winds back to where I expect the other entrance is, and I see it at the end of the hall. No one’s there.

I know a set up when I see it.

Even though, in the back of my head, I’m screaming to run, to get out, to reconvene somewhere else and come up with a different plan, this is what I was ordered to do, and this is what I’m going to do.

I slip into the main part of the building. Whatever it did in the past, it definitely didn’t serve the same purpose now: the two agents hang, dangling from their wrists from a sturdy bar hanging from the ceiling. I know already I’m not tall enough to cut them down.

I can’t see their faces. Whoever took them have put hoods over their heads. Regardless, I continue casing the room to make sure we’re alone.

No one else is here. I’m sure of it now; I’m still concerned. This has got to be a set up, and I’m not going to wait long enough for them to get the drop on us.

“2562 Little Owl,” I say over my SAT phone.

_“Go ahead, Little Owl.”_

I cautiously step towards the center of the room to case the two of them. One looks less hurt than the other. The other, though, has at least a broken leg. I can see the blood and bone from here.

“We’ve got some serious issues here on this op, I’m gonna need exfil ASAP and we’re gonna need medical.”

“_Sending exfil coordinates now.”_

He’s first on my list. His wrists are too high for me to cut down, but the bar looks good enough. I pull my knife from my boot and put it in my teeth before sprinting towards the bar, jumping up, and grabbing on. It bows a little under my weight, but I shift over just enough and hang from one hand while I use the other to hack through the ropes on his wrists.

I realize he’s going to have to drop regardless, and it’s not going to be pretty, but better in pain than dead.

Something stops me.

Under the wrists bonds, as I cut, I see a leather cuff.

It’s Walker. I didn’t know he had transferred to DXS. I hadn’t heard from him in months. At least, nothing more than a “hope you’re okay; I’m still alive” text. I realize: maybe he didn’t know. I couldn’t talk about DXS. He just knew I was working stateside.

I hack at the rope desperately, already fighting some very unprofessional tears welling in my eyes. Stop it. He’s not going to die. You’re not going to let him.

I drop from the bar just before he does, and I at least manage to get him down softer than he should have. Pulling off the hood, this time, I really do gasp. His lip is busted, he already has a black eye, and scrapes line his right cheek. He’s not even conscious.

“Walk! Walker, dammit, wake up!”

I check his leg. At least it’s not bleeding anymore. Situating him on the floor, I think the blood starts rushing back into his hands and arms and he jars awake.

“Hey! Hey, it’s me,” I begin, but his eyes don’t quite focus. “Didn’t know you were at DXS, Walker. Could’ve warned me.”

“Didn’t know you were at DXS,” he counters. “Thought you were workin’ for a PMC.”

“Thought you were selling bathroom tile.”

He chuckles, then seems to regain some of his sense. Whatever sense Walk had left, at least.

“Where’s… where—”

“Shh, I’ll be right back. I promise. Just breathe.”

I slip the knife back into my mouth and do what I did before. I taste iron. I taste blood.

The pipe creaks this time, but I start cutting. His wrists are even more cut up. At least Jack’s cuff stopped that from happening on one. This agent’s wounds number higher but are more superficial: knife cut upon knife cut on his arms. Cigarette burns, it seems.

His hands are bloodier, I notice as I cut him loose. I think his fingers are broken. Someone took the time to make him suffer and stop him from escaping. Whoever did this was sick and twisted. Whoever this is, this agent, they were afraid he would get out. It’s just what I expect from a Brazilian gang.

When he drops, he nearly lands on his feet, but I catch him like I did Jack and help him to the ground, leaning him into my lap.

I pull off his hood, and I very nearly fall backwards onto my hands. Blond hair, blue eyes. He was… he was supposed to be dead. I thought he was...

My anger takes a back seat to survival for a moment, and I brush his long, non-regulation hair out of his eyes. It feels like a habit I never had. He was dead. He was supposed to be dead. But he’s here, with Jack, his new partner. He was Jack’s new partner.

He jars awake and sits up, holding his hands in front of him. He can’t set them down. He can’t do anything except look down at them, bloody, broken. He seemingly tries to regain his bearings. I can’t. I don’t know how.

Finally looking up to me, he blinks, once, twice, three times. He shifts through a range of emotions that I can read like a book: confusion, exhaustion, then relief.

“… AJ? AJ, what… how…”

I inch away from him. I don’t even know where to start. I can’t. I turn my attention back to Jack, although my mind is racing. He’s not dead. He’s here. He’s a DXS agent, and no one told me.

“Walker, can you hear me?”

“What’re you doin’ here?” He says with a pained smirk.

“Stop being cocky,” I snap. “Take off your cuff and put it between your teeth.”

He does as he’s told. I don’t look away from Jack. I can’t make eye contact with… with him.

I find my bearings, remembering the basic human anatomy books I’ve read, and pull on his leg. It resets, he sinks his teeth into his cuff, then almost passes out. I rip off the fabric of his pants and use some of what’s left in my canteen to try to clean out the wound, but he’s going to need better triage than what I can give.

My already bloody hands—not my blood—are shaking. This is bad. This is Tinos bad.

“You need to stabilize his leg,” MacGyver says. “There are some cut up pipes on the other side of the room—”

“I know. I saw them when I came in,” I snap, ripping my scarf into strips. “Why don’t you make yourself useful and grab them?”

He doesn’t say anything. I don’t know if he can. I thought he was dead. It takes him a beat to respond.

“Can you give me a chance before you snap at me?”

I have to breathe heavily to not lose my temper. When I look up, he cringes, trying to flex his hands. He’s right. I don’t know what happened on his end, either. I can’t snap at him for that.

I make sure Jack is still stable, then take a few of my scarf strips over to Mac. I run as much water as I can spare over his hands. Although they’re not as bad, the cigarette burns peppering his arms give me pause. The knife cuts still bleed. His hands shake.

“What the hell did they do to you?” I murmur. For the first time in two years, the anger fades a little. It doesn’t disappear. It just shifts. For a moment, I feel like this is all my fault. He wouldn’t be here if I didn’t convince him to enlist.

But we wouldn’t be here, either. I wouldn’t be here to rescue him.

I wedge my hand under his fingers, and he clenches his teeth as I straighten them out. I do it again on his other hand, but this time, it’s like he’s ready for it. He’s used to the pain.

There’s not much I can do to stabilize them, but I wrap my makeshift bandages around his fingers, his hands, and down to his wrists. I can feel his eyes watching me as I do, and I try not to break.

I move to his other hand and continue, opening my mouth a few times to speak but not quite getting there. He does before I do.

“I met Jack in the Sandbox. We joined DXS together. They threw us on an op almost immediately. I couldn’t write you back. Then, when I got home, you still hadn’t written me. I figured you were done waiting.”

I seethe until I tie off the bandage. “I never knew. No one told me. But you didn’t tell me either.”

I get up and he follows suit, cringing. I think he’s got broken ribs too.

But I can’t stop now. “Mac, I thought you were dead. I thought you had joined the Army, joined the bomb squad, and had gotten killed.”

His furrowed brow breaks a little as he looks up at me. He’s killed people, whether he wanted to or not. I see it in his eyes now. He wraps his arm around himself, seemingly trying to keep himself upright.

“Are you okay?” I say quietly. He wavers a little. I hold out my hand to stabilize him, but I don’t touch him. I can’t touch him.

“I’ll be fine,” he mutters. “Check on Jack.”

“We need to find a way out of here,” I begin, looking around the room. At the other end, where a garage door sat locked, was a 1960s Ford. I don’t know the model, other than dusty and old. I’m not sure if it will run. “Go see what you can do with that.”

“It’s not your fault,” he says quietly. I can see the regret in his face. I’ve only talked to him face to face once, a long time ago, but damn, can I read him like a book.

“I thought you died. I thought you were killed in the line of duty. And all this time, I’ve felt like it was my fault.” I say, grabbing the pipes and bringing them back to Jack.

“I didn’t know, either,” he says, starting towards the car. He limps. My heart breaks a little. “I didn’t know you were working for DXS.”

I can’t really answer, so Mac doesn’t try again. I finish tying off the makeshift splint and look up to figure out what Mac was doing. He had frozen near the car, not moving, barely breathing.

I start towards him at a jog. “What the hell? What—”

He holds out a hand to make me stop. I’ve seen that look before. On our bomb techs. He stares down at his foot.

“They set up a pressure plate,” he says. His hair hangs down over his face, so I can’t tell his expression. I’m sure it’s one of abject horror. I lower myself to the ground to look at the plate, but it’s futile. I know nothing about bomb disposal.

But he does.

“I can’t shift my weight,” he says, his voice wavering. He pulls his Swiss Army knife out of his pocket. I’m surprised they didn’t take it from him.

“You’ve got knowledge and I’ve got a steady hand.”

He chuckles once. “You’re not gonna leave me here to set off the bomb?”

“Why would I do that?”

“Just figured since you’re mad at me…”

I scoff. “No man left behind. Besides, I’ve got some unfinished business with you.” Wiggling down to his feet, I find the cord, almost invisible against the dirty floor, running to somewhere else beyond the car.

“Okay. You’re going to want to cut that cord, but check where it leads to first.”

I start to look, chasing the thin wire visually. It’s hooked up beneath the car’s engine.

“This is unfortunate,” I say, avoiding touching the line but trying to find the bomb itself. “Looks like if you were going to escape, they wanted to kill you before you made it too far. Who did you piss off this time?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he grumbles. “What’s it look like?”

“A pipe bomb, I think,” I say. I look closer. There’s a line leading somewhere else. “There’s a secondary bomb.”

Mac shuts his eyes, clenching them, while he thinks. The anger just seethes in his jawline. He’s second guessing himself. He hates himself for what he’s gotten into.

I know the feeling.

“Get Jack out of the building. Get him a safe distance away. Find a car,” he says, taking back the knife. His hands don’t shake. They’re completely steady.

I just nod, standing up, but watching for any other pressure plates. It’s a wonder I didn’t set one off when I came in, but it seems they were more worried about others getting out.

I head to Jack, my eyes scanning the ground for anything else, and help him get to his feet. Instead of taking a doorway, I go up to the shack-like walls of the favela building and kick in a few boards. I’m afraid the doors are booby trapped.

“You’re not gonna leave the kid in there, are you?” He says, stumbling to move as I try to hold him up. My height isn’t compatible with his.

“No? That’s not even a question,” I say, finding a good enough vehicle outside of the blast radius. Or, what I expect to be the blast radius. I hand Jack my backpack and one of my guns. He cringes, but gets ready. He’s pale. Too pale. Probably from blood loss.

“You realize that’s what he meant, right?”

“Meant what?”

“That he’s gonna take care of it himself. Meaning we’re supposed to be driving right now.”

I don’t even dignify it with a response. He’s not getting out of this that easily. I start sprinting back towards the building.

I almost make it there before the entire thing blows up.

* * *

I slip between consciousness and unconsciousness. The dreams are fading. The shadow people, the blue. I don’t know why. Maybe because the drugs have stopped?

“They piped her full of methamphetamine and Diazepam. It’s a wonder she even survived.”

“When will she wake up?” This voice sounds like Mac. He sounds concerned. I’m surprised. He barely knows me anymore.

“It’s hard to say. It’s going to take another day to get the drugs fully out of her system, and then she has the possibility to suffer from withdrawal. We’re going to try to regulate it from here, but she’s got a long road ahead of her.”

“Don’t try to lie to me,” Jack says forcefully.

A sigh. “If she survives the next 24 hours, she has a chance. Between blood loss and the drugs, she may slip into a coma before—”

I hear a machine beep a little more obnoxiously than normal. My chest feels like it’s closing up.

“We need to get her to surgery. Now.”

* * *

I feel the heat. It sears over me, causing me to scream, to fight through the flames.

I don’t even remember how I got here. I cover my mouth with my sleeve, kick through the shrapnel, the wood, the heat. I can’t hear anything. Just the whine of pain in my ears.

Screaming his name, I can barely hear over the sound of flames hitting the ceiling, threatening to take it down. I’m too close to this, I tell myself, he can get out himself, he can do this, he was trained to do this, you were told to get these agents out, so that’s what you’re going to do—

This isn’t going to be a repeat of Tinos. It’s not. I’m not going to let it get that bad.

I push through the burning in my throat. A beam falls and threatens to crash into me. I can’t get past it. I take off my jacket and roll my hands in it, but when I push the beam, I can still feel the heat and fire grabbing at my skin. It’s searing into me. My jacket jumps, starts burning. I ditch it, and I make the decision to push the wood myself. It finally dislodges, and through the smoke, I see him.

I can’t breathe. Is it the smoke, or something else? I hear more yelling. It’s not me. Someone’s calling out my name.

I nearly crash into Mac. He’s on his side, trying to kick out a beam that had fallen on his leg.

“Harps, what are you doing?!”

With as much force as I can muster, I kick the burning board. It tumbles off of him, but he lets out a cry of pain.

“I’m saving your ass, what does it look like?” I lean down and pull his arm around my shoulder. He groans, leans into me, and I practically carry him to the vestiges of a doorway.

“I told you not to come back.”

“And I’m the more senior agent, so I’m calling bullshit,” I say, looking back over my shoulder.

“Dammit, AJ!”

“I outrank you anyway!”

“The other bomb—”

I know I hit my head. I feel something bleeding. I’m barely able to wake up before I hear the sounds of Brazilian sirens.

Mac rolls off of me. He tackled me when the second explosion rocked us. He’s out of breath. I probably am, too. But amidst the burning I still feel in my hands, I pull him up, still dazed, and we keep running towards the car. I can only hear my heartbeat.

Jack’s barely conscious when I start driving. Once Mac slips into the backseat, he starts to fade, too. Touching anything makes my skin throb. We’re all silent. But we’re all breathing.

It might be taking me a touch too long to breathe again.

I realize we’ve never talked about Rio. Not like we should. I’ve never apologized to him. After exfil, after Nigeria, Thornton put me back on my long-term assignment hunting an international assassin until DXS imploded and became Phoenix.

I didn’t lie to him. I didn’t want to die. I had too much to tell him first.


	4. Arkhêgetis: The Foundation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally back in LA, AJ learns quickly her situation is more dire than she really expects. But with the realization her mission failed and her summer in LA looming, she soon found herself in familiar territory: alone.

_Unknown  
_ **Unknown**

However long I’m out, I know it’s been too long. I know sedation when I feel it. I’m overly aware of it now. But when my eyes finally start to open, and I hear shuffling of people coming in and out, checking something that’s beeping or putting a light in my eyes, I decide I really just want to go back to sleep.

For the longest time, I didn’t have dreams. All I had was peace. I almost couldn’t remember what happened before.

Eventually, though, it feels like everything fades in, like I’m waking up for the first time. I hear Mac’s voice first. He’s talking about me.

“I haven’t seen her in years. She’s…” He drifts off, not finishing the thought.

“She’s what?” A woman says.

“She’s the one who helped set me on this path in the first place.”

A long pause. “And that’s it?”

“… I haven’t seen her in years,” he says under his breath once again. “We… I was nineteen when we met. I wrote her at least twice a week when I was in the Army.”

“How’d you meet?”

He chuckles. “It’s a long story.”

“We’ve got time.”

He sighs. “Well, uh. Chaos theory.”

“What?”

Mac seems like he’s stuck in a thought. It takes him a while to even answer. “Oh, uh, chaos theory. Even in the chaos, we keep coming back together.”

“She’s not just the one who set you on this path,” she gently accuses.

“Riles, you know she’s not.”

“What made it stop?”

“I… I still don’t know.”

The first person I see in the room is unfamiliar: dark hair, medium skin, slight build. Heavy eyeliner. She types leisurely on a computer, leaning her feet against the edge of my hospital bed.

I just want to know if Mac and Jack are okay. Are they okay? Did they make it out of Rio?

She looks up. Sees me awake.

“Hey, Mac—she’s waking up.”

I turn my attention to the other side of the room. The doorway. I should have cased the place before making any indication of movement. But he walks over. He’s fine. He’s untouched. He doesn’t look hurt at all. It doesn’t make sense. None of it makes sense.

It must have been the bomb. I don’t remember getting here. I don’t remember the exfil.

He kneels down next to my bed. I squint, I try to focus. Everything feels out of place. I’m exhausted. I’m not just tired; my entire body feels like I’ve been smashed and put back together.

“Hey. How you feelin’?” He asks in a quiet voice.

I run my tongue over my dry lips. I want to speak, but it feels like I’m struggling to even think, let alone say words. But I find them. My voice is still hoarse. “Are you okay? Is Jack okay?”

He chuckles, then glances to the girl like he was saying something about me before I woke up. “We’re fine. You’re the one we’re worried about.”

“How did we get out?” I ask. I hear the heart rate monitor beeping a little faster. “How did we get out of Rio? I don’t remember the exfil.”

This time, Mac squints at me. He takes too long to answer. “AJ, we were in Siberia. Don’t you remember?”

“I remember Rio,” I mutter. “I remember the bomb. You and Jack… that was the last time I saw you. You both… I didn’t see you after Rio.”

“Hey. Hey, you need to breathe,” he mutters. I’m acutely aware now of how quickly the monitor beeps. He almost touches me, but he seems to decide halfway there not to. “You went through a hell of a lot to get here.”

Siberia. It comes flooding back. The Russians. The hard drive. The drugs and the blue and the shadow people and—

I’m so cold. I’m shaking again. People run in, surround me, I hear doctors talking, but suddenly, I hear a different voice. A familiar voice.

“Thea, baby, it’s me. It’s me,” He calls over the sounds. “Let me… let me through. Let me talk to her. Thea. Hey,” Walker says, grabbing my hand and brushing my hair back from my face. I close my eyes against his palm. The monitor’s beeping slows down by the time he forces all the doctors and nurses to step back and clear the room.”We made it back, alright? You’re safe. Hey. Listen to me. You’re gonna be okay.”

I feel my breathing return to normal. Walk’s here. He’s safe. Rio, at least this time, was a nightmare.

It was the last time I talked to Mac.

I finally let my eyes focus, totally, in the harsh hospital light. It’s the infirmary at Phoenix. I’m back in LA.

“Did you get the drive?”

“No,” Jack says quietly. I see Mac’s irritation heighten a little, but Jack gives him a glare. “But the important thing is, you’ve made it home.”

I shut my eyes tightly, leaning back into the pillow. I failed. It’s been a while since I failed. I’m not used to the feeling.

“You’ve got to rest,” Jack says. “Can you do that?”

A nurse, who I just notice is hovering behind them, starts towards the computers next to me. There’s a drip in my arm. I just saw it. I can’t. I reach for it, to pull it out of my arm.

I don’t want the drugs. I don’t want anything getting pumped into me. I can’t do this anymore. I can’t. I can’t.

“Thea! Calm down!” Jack cries out. I realize I’m saying this all out loud. They all look to me in various emotions: fright, exhaustion, confusion, worry.

“I don’t want it. I don’t want the drugs. Please don’t drug me.”

Jack gives the nurse a glare. “She doesn’t need them. Don’t sedate her, alright?”

The nurse merely nods. She steps back, back into the shadows.

“I’ll stay with her until she falls asleep,” Jack says. Mac stays too, sitting down just out of my periphery, watching. He looks so sad.

* * *

I waver in and out for days, I think. I’m not positive. I know just my arm throbs, my chest hurts. I’m hyper-aware of the blood in my body.

The people change. Sometimes it’s Mac and Jack, other times it’s the girl Mac called Riles. Sometimes I think it’s Mac’s friend, Bozer. When all of them are gone, it’s a blonde with thick glasses. Occasionally, it’s Matty. I forgot what it feels like to work with a team.

They all take turns watching. For days now, they keep coming in shifts. Sometimes they’re asleep. Sometimes they’re working. But someone’s always there.

I don’t open my eyes this time. I decide to listen. I hear Jack’s voice, and the now familiar voice of Mac’s friend. Bozer. He’s just as funny as Mac said he was. We could have been friends in another life. It’s too late now.

“—history, but really, Jack. What’s the deal?”

“What did he ever tell you about her?”

“She was way before…. before any of this. The way he told it, she was the one who got away.”

No. I hate this conversation. I didn’t know. I shouldn’t know. I hear my own heart monitor jump. Both pause their hushed speaking, but my monitor shifts, it slows. They go back to talking. Jack just chuckles.

“That sounds about right. You know… you know that person you always try to forget when you try to find someone else?”

“Hell yeah. Don’t we all?”

“For Mac, it’s always been AJ. And, quite frankly, for AJ, that’s Mac.”

“What the hell is their problem, then?!”

“That history we were talkin’ about. Too damn stubborn.”

“That’s bullshit,” Bozer says under his breath. I let myself drift back into unconsciousness.

* * *

I don’t know how long I’m here, but eventually, the nightmares come. I barely remember it when I gasp awake, sometime in the middle of the night. I nearly tear the wires away from me until a voice convinces me to stop.

“You’re fine! It’s only a nightmare. You’re at Phoenix. AJ, can you hear me?”

I’m dazed, but of course I can hear him. Mac sits at the edge of my hospital bed. He looks like he was reading in the armchair nearby but had moved. A book sits on the seat, folded open. It says something about the Lagrangian formulation in quantum field theory. I rub my eyes.

“Do you ever read a comic? Or even fiction?”

He laughs. “Actually, it’s interesting. It’s used for analyzing the motion of particles. Kinetic energy and potential energy…” Mac drifts off. “Yeah, never mind.”

“Good call. What are you even doing here?”

“Oh, uh, just… my shift to watch you,” he says. He picks up his book from his chair and sits back down.

“I don’t need to be watched. Go home. I’m fine.”

For a second, he almost looks hurt. I can’t bring myself to feel bad. This is the most I’ve seen him, though, and even though my pride speaks for me, I know my heart doesn’t want him to go.

We all know which one wins, though.

I touch my neck, and I realize behind all the wires and tubes, the chain is gone. My heart monitor jumps immediately.

“Where’s my necklace? Did something happen to it?”

“It’s right here,” he says. It’s next to him on his side table. I take in a sigh of relief. “They took it off for surgery.”

“Can I have it? Please?”

He brings it over, dropping it in my hand. I don’t put it on right away. Instead, I look anywhere but at him.

“Thanks,” I say shortly.

I don’t have the leverage to put it on myself; after a moment, he stands back up and plucks the chain from my weak grip. I lean forward just enough to have him clasp it onto my neck. His fingers barely linger on my skin.

Although I told him to leave, he doesn’t listen. I want to stay mad at him. I have for three years. But right now, I don’t have the energy. I don’t have the heart.

“The hell is the Lagrangian formulation in quantum field theory?” I ask, rearranging my pillow a little and settling into my bed.

He takes a beat to look at me. It’s almost hopeful. “You just want me to lull you back to sleep.”

“Step it up, MacGyver. I’m waiting.”

Even as I start to close my eyes, I hear him chuckle, nearly under his breath. “Well, external force is always zero…”

* * *

After a week, I’m to the point where I’m waking up, I want to move, I want to talk. That’s about the time I start asking about discharge, and Matty steps in to urge me otherwise. It’s been long enough. I’m awake more now than I am asleep. I need to get out of here.

“You are not fine. You need a few more days here,” Matty says, her tone sharp. “That’s an order.”

“I am fine,” I try again. I’m already on my feet, getting dressed in something that Phoenix has provided for me. Everything I was wearing was ripped or bloody. “There’s no point in me taking up this room if I’m able to leave.”

She follows after me, almost cutting me off. “You’re not able to leave. There are lasting effects of the drugs you were given! They can’t help you if you’re not here.”

I stare at her blankly.

“Fine. But you know you have a mandatory four-month rehabilitation period.”

“Can’t you waive it for me?”

“Now why would you do that, if you’re going against orders and leaving?” She scoffs. I give her a smile.

“Love you too, Matty.”

I head out to the nurse’s station and start signing my discharge papers when I hear Jack.

“The hell you doin’ up? Matty, are they letting her out early?”

“She’s leaving against medical advice,” she deadpans.

I finish signing the papers, and I look up to see both Jack and Mac. Mac stands quietly, about a step and a half behind Jack, in parade rest, like he’s waiting for me to acknowledge him. I decide not to. He realizes it quickly, but his tenacity is overwhelming. 

“I just want to go home,” I explain, lifting my arm, albeit painfully, to my mouth and ripping the medical ID bracelet from my wrist. After adjusting my arm in the sling, I give the bracelet to Matty, who starts in with a “Seriously?” but I give her a salute.

“See you in July, boss.”

“You’re a pain in my ass, Harper.”

“I have been for years.”

I link my arm through Jack’s, and he starts leading me to the elevator. Mac hangs back, not seeming to want to get involved.

“You still livin’ at the marina?” Jack asks as the doors shut.

I adjust my stance. My ribs still hurt. I’m just realizing now that my eye is swollen. The bruising should go down soon. I haven’t looked in a mirror in weeks. “Yeah. Just drop me off. I’ll be fine on my own. You’ve got better things to do.”

“You really should eat something,” Jack says. “I know you’ve got nothing edible at your place.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“You need to eat. If you’re leavin’ the infirmary, you gotta eat.”

The elevator doors open, and we’re all headed out together. I’m surprised. Mac still trails along behind.

“Whatever, Walk. I just want to go home,” I repeat. “Just take me home.”

Jack, of course, completely ignores me. “I’m gonna get you that Hawaiian barbeque you love so much. Sound good?”

“If it makes you happy.” It’s easier than fighting him.

Within a half hour, we’re headed back to my place, with a bunch of food from L&L. Admittedly, I’ll be happy to make it home. I haven’t been home in weeks. I want to sleep in my own bed again.

But Jack knows exactly where to go, and before I realize it, I’m already wavering. I’m so damn tired. I just want to sleep, but I know it’s going to be easier said than done. I unlock the door at the front with my code and we head upstairs.

“Thea, you got your key?”

I reach for my head, but I realize my hair is still tied back with the piece of ribbon Mac cut off from the blanket in Siberia. No bobby pins.

“Fuck, no, and I can’t break in. No pins.”

Mac finally speaks up, pulling out his Swiss Army Knife. “May I?”

I step aside, leaning against the wall so it would take my weight. I wipe the sweat from exertion from my face. Jack side glances at me, and I think he knows I’m not feeling right. I’m hungry, I’m tired, I just want to go home.

I watch Mac. It doesn’t take him long to break into a place like this, I would think. I waver a little, but it’s fine. I’m fine.

“You good, AJ?”

Jack glances over to me. Mac stops for a second, and I realize I’ve gained my balance by touching his shoulder. I immediately draw my hand away.

“Sorry.”

The door clicks and opens. Jack slips inside with the food, leaving Mac and I outside. I pull myself off the wall and he waits. He waits, holding his hand out to help me if I need it. I don’t want to take it. Well, now I’m just lying to myself.

I step around him into my apartment. The air smells stale, and I kick a stack of mail from the front door. Everything looks like it’s fine. The first thing I do is slip into my bathroom and I make a mistake of looking at myself in the mirror.

The bruise around my eye has faded exponentially, but it’s still there, coloring my skin light purple. Hopefully the swelling will go down soon. On my head, a long but seemingly deep cut slices through my eyebrow and the bruising. There’s got to be at least a dozen stitches. Besides the normal scratches and cuts and bruises, I pull aside my shirt collar and see the bandages, taped on my skin, a little too close to my heart. Another bullet wound for my collection. The bruise from my dislocated shoulder blooms out of the bandage, still relatively dark. It’s hot to the touch.

I replace my sling and head back out to the kitchen, where I catch Mac and Jack finishing a hushed conversation. Jack serves me my welcome home meal with a flourish, probably as a distraction. I barely touch my chicken before the silence engulfs us.

“If you’re going to ask, just ask.”

Jack glances to Mac, and Mac takes his chance. “AJ, what happened to you out there?”

I bristle a little. I knew the question was coming. That was a given. But I didn’t know he would be so pointed about it.

“I was doing reconnaissance. There was this old KGB base out there. I had holed up for a while, watching what they were up to, but I finally discovered they were looking to ditch the facility and were collecting all their information onto that hard drive. I phoned it in to Matty, we both made a joint executive decision for me to go in and steal the drive.”

“We all know heists? Not your strong suit,” Jack says, his mouth full.

“Yeah, I’m more of a point and shoot kind of girl,” I say. “What you saw was the aftermath of me not taking the proper time to orchestrate and plan a heist. But in my defense, I didn’t have time. They were moving out, and I had to move. It did not go as planned.”

I try to regulate my breathing, but I feel my heart rate going up. I just have to breathe a little. I’ll be fine.

“That’s when you came in,” I say, simplifying the ending. They know enough about what happened to know I’m not going to talk about it. The energy in the room just plummets into something sadder, more disappointing. Jack quickly tries to bring it back. He fails miserably.

“So anyone gonna talk about the elephant in the room?,” Jack says, gesturing between the two of us with his fork.

“No.” Not even the rice tastes good, but I force myself to eat some.

Mac is visibly irritated as he finishes eating. “AJ, you don’t—”

“It doesn’t matter,” I say. I’ve eaten enough. I shut the container and put it in the fridge. “I really need to sleep,” I announce as Jack pulls out his ringing phone. “I’m sure the Golden Squad needs to go save the world.”

“Hey, Matty!” he says, drawing out the greeting. I’m already rolling my eyes. “What’s shakin’?… uh huh. Okay. Yeah, he’s right here. Uh… to be determined. We’re on our way.” Jack says, nodding his head at Mac. “I’ll meet you outside.”

Mac’s eyes flick from Jack to me and then back to Jack. I glare at both of them over the rim of my water glass. Mac doesn’t even give me a goodbye as he slips out the door.

As soon as the door clicks, Jack is on me.

“You gotta give the kid a break, Thea! What the hell is your problem?”

“He could have told me. I didn’t know he was alive until Rio,” I say, running my hand under the cold water. Everything is warm. My head starts to pound.

“So your problem is Rio? Why don’t you talk to him about it, like I’ve been tellin’ ya for years? It’s not his fault!”

I shake my head. “He doesn’t want to hear from me. And it’s more than just Rio. We had plenty of chances, Jack. We both did. And they’re lost now. I’m not going to try to fix something he doesn’t want to fix.”

Jack is pissed. I can see him set his jaw as he starts for the door. “What makes you think he doesn’t want to fix things? You don’t know that for sure. You need to talk to him. In person. Now’s your chance. This is the universe, screamin’ at you to talk to him.”

I hear his words, but it’s like I can’t understand English for a second. I can feel my hand on the counter, but the heat comes over me in waves.

Jack opens the door. I can still focus through the blackish green frame slipping around my periphery. “Mac, get in here.”

I squeeze my eyes shut to try to stave off the headache, the dizziness. The blue.

“Walker, something’s not right.” It’s coming back, it’s coming back in waves. Like I’ve been dreaming this entire time. I try to blink, to get rid of the feeling—and suddenly, the lights dim, and all I see is black.

“Upstairs, go upstairs,” I hear Jack saying. Someone carries me up the staircase. I don’t feel my limbs. Everything feels numb. I’m dizzy, I’m sweaty. I’m getting nauseous. I can’t do this. Not again.

Someone lays me down on my bed, touches a hand to my head.

“Jack, she’s burning up. Bring an ice pack or something.”

Something feels so off, so off, so tired. What happened, what’s—

“You passed out,” Mac says. He’s next to me, holding an ice pack against my head. “Hit your head against the floor.” He picks up the ice pack and moves my head, his fingers on my chin. “You didn’t bust any stitches, so that’s good.” It takes him a beat longer than it should for him to move his fingers.

“You should go back to the hospital,” Jack grumbles. He’s removing a stack of pillows from under my legs.

“I’m not going back to the hospital.”

“No one’s going to think less of you if you do,” Mac says. But it doesn’t work. I just want to be in my own bed, whether I pass out or not.

“Just let me stay here,“ I say, weaker than I had hoped. “You have an op to run. I’m fine on my own.”

“Would you let us send some people over to check on you?” Mac says, holding the ice pack high enough so he can look at me. He’s just so damn sincere, I wanna punch him in the face.

“If it would make you feel better.”

“It would,” he admits.

I take the ice pack from him and rest it back on my head. Jack takes the time to pull off my shoes so I don’t have to move. I’m already slipping off to sleep as I hear their voices:

“She’s gonna be okay, Mac. We’ll send that one tech—”

“Jill. You gotta learn her name, man. You still have her key?”

“Yeah, I got it somewhere. Man, stop worryin’. You got that look on your face. Let’s go.”

I hear what can only be Jack on the stairway, so the hand that grasps mine, strokes my knuckles, and leaves has to be Mac.


	5. Areia: Warlike

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AJ falls back into her typical routine of healing after a bad op, but this time, it’s punctuated by interruptions from Mac and his friends. But even friends can push too hard, they learn, when the truth of what happened between AJ and Mac comes out.

_Marina del Rey, LA  
_ **Mid-March**

I don’t know how long I sleep. I try to shift to my side, and I get shooting pains in my shoulder.

Someone comes in. Jack must have given them his key. At least he found it. I don’t see much, as I shuffle to the staircase, but she unpacks some groceries from a tote bag and slips them in my fridge. I try to head down, but my leg gives out a little and I sink down onto the fourth step.

I hazily give her a wave of a greeting. I remember seeing her at the hospital.

“Hey, I’m Jill! MacGyver and Jack sent me to check on you. Are you doing okay?”

“As okay as I can be,” I say. My voice is still hoarse. Eventually, I think, it’ll go away. Probably. “Thanks for coming.”

“Do you need anything?”

“No. No, I’m fine,” I say.

“Well, if you need anything, please call me or text me,” she says cheerfully. I acknowledge it, then head back upstairs, already falling back asleep.

When I wake from my latest nightmare, a now warm ice pack sits on my shoulder while a bottle of water and a perfectly made sandwich sit on my side table, along with a handwritten phone number next to the name Jill Morgan and a smiley face. It does make me smile a little.

* * *

A couple of days later, I text Jill, asking for some more supplies. In reality, I didn’t want to ask for help, but I really had no choice and had run out of cereal and ramen. I had made it as far as my living room that day, curling up on the couch and watching reruns of _24._ Even when I hear my door unlock, I don’t reach for some sort of weapon. I just slip further into the painful haze.

“Hey, AJ!” The girl’s voice from the hospital. Distinctly not Jill.

“In here,” I say. My voice is starting to come back. I nestle under my blanket even further when she, who I think is Bozer, and Mac meander in. I’m surprised, but I try not to show it. I don’t want to think I’m not mad at him anymore. Bozer and Riley take a bunch of bags into my kitchen.

Mac looks at the TV and raises his eyebrow. “Really?”

“It’s a good show. It relaxes me. I thought Jill was coming.”

The girl from the hospital steps in from the kitchen. “She got tied up at work and sent us instead,” she says. “Hey. I’m Riley.” She looks a bit like a modern version of 90s grunge. I like it and all her plaid.

I smile. I’m sure I still look horrifying. “Hey, Riley. AJ Harper. Thanks for coming.”

“We wanted to drop off some groceries and your meds,” Mac says, holding up a pair of orange bottles. “Matty says you never got them.”

I grumble. That was by design, but I can’t tell him that. “Set them on the counter. I’ll take them later.”

The other guy comes in with a glass of water. He’s the only one that gives me a truly warm smile.

“Wilt Bozer. Heard a lot about you,” he says, but gets a dagger glance from Mac.

“Take it now,” Mac says. He’s stern, but not mean. I burrow further into my couch and ignore him until he steps in front of the TV.

“God, you make a better door than a window,” I grumble, taking the pills he’s offered and taking a drink. He finally gets out of my eyeshot. I don’t want to deal with this. Not right now. He comes back and sits on the edge of the couch, at least taking the time to pause my show.

“When’s the last time you ate?”

“I don’t want to do this right now.” I reach for the remote, but he holds it away from me.

He sighs. “You’ve got to eat, AJ.”

“I had cereal around 7 p.m.”

“It’s literally 12 p.m.,” he says. “If you’re not goin’ back to the hospital, you’ve got to eat.”

“Don’t feel like it.”

“I don’t care. You think you can help me make something?” He directs the last part to Bozer and Riley.

“You mean, you can watch me cook?” Bozer says. “Yeah, sure. Anything for our girl here. What do you want? What sounds good?”

I just grumble. I don’t really have anything here, but I’m sure they brought the basics. I really don’t care. I still feel like a half-ghost.

I’m just left in silence as the three of them wait on my answer. Bozer looks the most patient. Riley looks like she’s going to kick my ass. Mac… it’s something else entirely. Somewhere between concern and something else.

Mac speaks up first. “I’ve got it” is all he says before grabbing Bozer and taking him off into the kitchen. I turn off my show, and Riley sidles up to me, sitting down on the edge of the couch. I feel suddenly like they had set her on me, but I’m ready to hear her out. She looks like a hardass, but I know the truth lies in the eyes, and hers are silently pleading to listen.

“I don’t know how much you know about me, but I know enough about you. What you’re going through sucks. No one should ever have to suffer through what you suffered through. But there are people here who are trying to help you, and you’re not helping yourself.” She looks towards the entryway into the kitchen, then lowers her voice. “I spent two years in Supermax. I know what it’s like to lose part of yourself. So I’m begging you. I know you don’t feel like it. I know you’re slipping, but I’m begging you. Take that little bit of your strength you have left today and humor Bozer. And maybe forgive Mac a little for whatever he may have done to you. I think you owe it to him. Even if it’s temporary.”

She stands up, ready to head back into the kitchen. Her speech, while short and sweet, buries itself deep somewhere in my heart. Something tells me she was asked to do this, but it’s still a nice sentiment, however fleeting or contrived.

“Hey, Riley?” I muster, struggling to my feet. I’m still weak, but something did snap in me. She made it snap. When she turns around, she holds out her hand to offer me stability. I clasp my hand in hers, and she gives me a smile. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” she says, leading me into the kitchen as I smell pancakes and bacon.

* * *

Mac, Jack, and I run through the snow. It’s up to my knees. I keep stumbling, but they keep moving. I’m in a blizzard, a snowstorm. I’m losing sight of them as we run.

I hear the shot. I feel it, right through my shoulder. Right where I actually got shot. It hurts ten times, a hundred times worse now.

Someone grabs my ankles. They’re pulling me down. They’re pulling me under the snow. I’m choking. I can’t breathe, and I can’t scream. I see blue, fading, shifting blue. I’m drugged again. Someone drugged me again. The shadow people are back, and they’re going to take me this time. They’re going to kill me.

I wrestle. Hands grab me, and I fight to push them off. I don’t want to be drugged, I don’t want this again, I don’t want to feel that way get off get off—

“AJ! It’s me!”

I’m awake. I was asleep. The whole thing was a dream. I’m shaking. Why do I hear Mac’s voice?

I’m breathing. I’m awake. I think. Oh, God, I’m so damn tired. I try to stop shaking. Am I having another seizure? No. No, I’m not. No. Someone holds me down. I finally blink away the sleep as I hear Jack’s voice and his footfalls as he lumbers up the stairs.

“She okay?”

“She hasn’t quite woken up yet, but she’s stopped fighting.”

“Thea? Thea, can you hear me?”

I try to wrench my wrists free, I curl up as small as I can in my bed. The nightmare fades, but the nausea, the exhaustion, they all remain. I can’t get rid of those so easily.

“What the hell happened? Y’all okay?”

“It’s not her fault,” Mac immediately says, standing up. I look to Mac and see what look like fingernail scratches down his arm. Not deep, just visible. He pulls his shirt sleeve down. I peer at the two of them. I still feel dazed.

“Thea, we haven’t heard from you in days,” Jack explains. He glances to Mac with a furrowed brow. “What the hell happened?”

“Thought you were gone on an op,” I say. I hold my head in my hand. Everything’s spinning. I hold back the feeling of puking by breathing slowly.

“We were,” Mac says. “Listen, none of this is important. Are you okay?”

“I dreamed… snow, and both of you, and they took me. They were going to drug me again. I couldn’t—n-not again—”

I feel myself spiraling. I might pass out again.

“Thea, you’re fine,” Jack says, sitting on the side of the bed with me. He keeps repeating my name, trying to ground me. I try to follow his lead, but it’s hazy.

“How the fuck did you get in here?” I finally find myself asking. “I thought Jill had your key…”

“She still does,” Mac confirms.

“Mac climbed up to your porch, then buzzed me in,” Jack explains, like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

“I’m on the second floor.”

“Scaled it like a frat boy on spring break,” Jack says.

I’m still shaken. I thought these dreams were supposed to stop, but I guess not.

“We were afraid somethin’ happened to you again.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re clearly not fine,” Mac says, touching the back of his hand to my forehead. “You’re pale and feverish.”

I push past him, past Mac, and stumble on the stairs. I try to get up, but I can’t balance. I’m perfectly equipped at this point to wait on the stairs until it passes, but Mac slips his arm around my waist and helps me downstairs. I make it to the bathroom and nearly collapse before I start puking.

“I’m calling the Phoenix to get her admitted,” Mac says once I reach a lull. I can barely grab onto the toilet at this point. Jack holds my hair back. Not the first time.

“No. No. Please, Mac,” I beg. “God, I hate puking. Don’t do that.”

“You’re clearly still suffering withdrawal symptoms, you’re definitely not eating—”

I wave my hand at him, trying to get him to stop. “Please. Please, Mac.”

I don’t know what Jack does, but he somehow silently convinces Mac to put away his phone. Instead, Mac’s eyes rake my bathroom shelf until he sees an orange bottle.

I will him not to pick it up, but he does, and he immediately looks at the date, number, and opens it up to count the pills inside.

“She’s not taking her meds,” Mac sighs, tossing not one but two bottles to Jack.

“Ativan,” Jack reads, before catching the other. “Targin?”

“It’s basically oxycodone with naloxone. It helps prevent addiction while providing the pain relief. Both would help with her withdrawal and pain management,” Mac says accusingly.

“I’m not taking it,” I say, trying to sound as defiant as I can with my head half in the toilet bowl. “I can do this on my own.”

Jack scoffs. “Apparently, you can’t.”

“I can do this on my own,” I repeat, stronger this time.

Mac looks like he’s going to explode. I can’t see Jack behind me, but I know he probably is, too.

“Listen to me,” Mac begins. He starts gesturing. I can only focus on his hands. “You have been shot. Through the shoulder. You dislocated that shoulder from the seizures you had from how many days off and on of both meth and diazepam. Your wrists and ankles were cut up from fighting against the cuffs. And you suffered both blood loss and hypothermia. You were pistol whipped—”

“Twice,” I say, my voice hollow.

“What?”

“Pistol whipped twice.”

“That is not helping!” Jack says, exasperated.

“—pistol whipped twice. You have fourteen stitches! You’re in pain and you’re suffering from both the effects of an overdose and withdrawal. You either need to get back to the hospital or you need to take your meds.”

“Mac, I—”

“Your heart stopped!” He finally outbursts. “Your heart—do you understand? You were effectively dead! I had to—to shock you! Twice! You were… you were dead, AJ!” He runs both hands through his hair. “I can’t, Jack. I can’t. I’m out. If she’s not going to listen to me, I’m out. I’m done.”

Mac storms out of the bathroom. I hear Jack sigh.

“How many times have I told the both of you you need to talk this out?” he says. “Don’t you get it, Thea? You think he would be here, ridin’ your ass about your meds, if he didn’t want to hear from you? He cares about you, and you care about him, and both of y’all are too proud to admit it. I’m… I’m gonna talk to him.”

“I’m okay.”

He steps around me, and I flush the toilet, then wipe my mouth. I finally feel good enough to lean against my tub. I know he’s right, but I don’t want to admit that he was right. That’s just me admitting I was wrong. I feel ganged up on, I don’t want him to leave, I don’t want to deal with Mac right now. Not how I feel right now. Not now. The tears threaten to fall, and I have to stop them before one of them sees.

Mac steps back into the bathroom. This time, he’s not with Jack. He leans down, one knee on the floor and his arm resting on the other knee. He’s down on my level for once. I want to talk to him, but I’m too exhausted. “These meds, they’re not going to mess you up. They’re going to help you. And the sooner you get better, the sooner you can get back out into the field,” he starts. I try to focus on him. He’s wearing blue. It brings out his eyes.

“They make me feel hazy. I can’t sleep, but I’m exhausted. And then… then the confusion, I just—Mac I can’t feel like this. I can’t. It makes me feel like I’m—I’m—”

“Vulnerable?” He offers, he whispers. “It doesn’t have to be permanent, AJ. Just for now. Just until you heal.”

“I’m okay—”

Mac breathes in like he’s going to raise his voice, but just as soon as he does, he exhales, letting it go. “AJ, please. You’ve done enough. You don’t have anything to prove. Least of all to Jack and I. Take the meds. Please.”

I want to say a million things to him, I realize, but nothing seems good enough. I’m still irate at him. I’m so pissed, but right now, it feels like he’s the only thing keeping me alive. He’s good. He’s too good. I don’t know if that’s why I haven’t let go, or if it’s a reason to let go.

“I’ll take the meds,” I say. He lets out a heavy breath, and he reaches towards me, wiping some of the remnant tears. I clench my eyes shut so I don’t have to watch. “I’m sorry I scratched you,” I say quietly.

“I have the nightmares too. I know how they get.”

We just look at each other. I don’t know how long the eye contact can last; I’m the first one to break.

He calls for Jack to get me a bottle of water and I try to open the bottles Jack left for me. The excruciating pain from my shoulder makes me unable to get a grip on the tops. Mac takes them from me and pops them easily. With the reappearance of Jack, they both watch as I take the dosage.

Unfortunately, I know they’re both right. I should take them. I just hate them.

I decide to lay there for a while, my face on the cold tile of my tub, but Mac pulls my good arm around his shoulder and picks me up. I’m out again before he makes it upstairs.

* * *

I take the meds. Eventually, I feel myself again. At least, part of myself. I wake up to my phone ringing. For a moment, I forget where I am. It’s not hard anymore. I barely ever wake up in the same place I woke up in the morning before.

“Yeah?”

_“Debriefing. The team’s back, and we need to discuss what happens next.”_

I run my hand over my face. I don’t even know what day it is. “Hey Matty! 'Hey, AJ, how are you?' Fine, thanks for asking! I thought what happens next is me sitting on my ass for four months.”

_“It’s gonna be longer if you keep up with that attitude.”_

“Sorry, ma’am.”

_“Don’t ‘ma’am’ me. Get your ass in here.”_

“Will do, Matty. ”

My body throbs. Even my mouth is dry. I try to get it to stop feeling gross, but nothing seems to help. Four months. I don’t know how I’m going to do this for four months. Four months is like forty years in my time.

I have to make it to the end of July. The entire summer, here in LA.

I let out a groan. Tourist season.

I struggle through my shower and ditch my sling. I need both hands to ride, anyway.

Still, when I try to put on my helmet with both hands, I start to regret removing that sling. I toss it in my knapsack before I go.

It takes me about fifteen minutes weaving in and out of traffic to get to the Phoenix Foundation, and once I park, I retrieve my sling and leave the helmet. No one’s gonna take it anyways.

I hold my arm across my ribs. Stretching them out to ride was probably not the best idea, and I’m reaping the negatives of my chosen mode of transportation. Nothing feels good right now. I’m sure I don’t look the best, either. At least I’ve gotten a shower since the last time I was here.

Nothing has changed since I left for Siberia. I still get the weird looks. Like I’m unfamiliar, although I’m allowed through the door without an escort. I make my way to the war room, and Matty seems surprised to find out I’m the first one there.

“Did you teleport?”

“No,” I say, leaning against the back wall of windows.

“I forgot how much of a conversationalist you are,” she snaps. “Seriously, how did you get here so fast?”

“The lane splitting laws in California are seriously one of the perks of being stationed here,” I say.

She audibly groans. “You have a healing dislocated shoulder _and_ a bullet wound through the chest! What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“What did she do this time?” Jack says, wandering into the war room. He winks at me, and I nod at him back. This is the most I’ve seen him in a long time. I desperately want to just pull him into a hug, but I can’t. Not in the war room.

From behind him, Riley and Bozer come in, both giving me a respectable nod. I return the favor until Mac comes in, closing the door behind him.

Still not ready. I don’t know if I ever will be. Already, I don’t want to be in the room with him. I’m ready to bolt as soon as possible. I had let him get too close to me before. I’m not letting it happen again.

“She’s recovering from a major ordeal and decides a week after she gets out of the hospital against medical advice to ride her motorcycle through L.A. rush hour traffic.”

All eyes turn to me, the expressions showing a wide range of emotions: Mac looks concerned, and I’m not sure why; Jack’s face lights up. Bozer looks at me with what I think is respect and awe, while Riley grins and nods.

“Wait, that… that was your Bonneville in the parking lot?” Jack stutters. “When did you get her? What year is she?”

“1967,” I confirm. “She’s pretty, right? Got her about five years ago. Rode the breakdown lane pretty much all the way here.”

“That is immoral and I shouldn’t be hearing this,” Matty mutters, bringing something up on the screen.

“What’s the top speed?” Riley asks, a sly smile appearing on her face.

“Factory model, about 115. With some tweaking, I’ve gotten her to about 140. Wanna ride with me sometime?” I can't turn it off, and Jack glares at me.

“Stop flirting with Ri, she ain’t your type,” Jack mutters under his breath.

“I’m tellin’ you, she’s exactly my type,” I whisper back.

“Thought tall, blond, and reckless was your type.”

“Do not tell me this!” Matty continues, interrupting our conversation. “Can we get back to work, please?”

I turn my focus to Matty, and she points to Riley, who begins pulling out her laptop. It looks intense. She must be their hacker. Now I remember what happened to Carpenter.

“Riley Davis, Wilt Bozer,” she says, pointing to the two of them. “Sergeant AJ Harper, looking significantly better than when you last saw her.”

“We’ve met,” I explain, but I don’t know how much Matty knows. It doesn’t matter. “Besides, you know it’s just agent, now, Matty.”

“Old habits. You know these other two knuckleheads,” she mutters. “I called you in to finish the debriefing about the Siberian mission.”

I straighten. I wasn’t ready to talk about this yet, but I guess since I’m out of the hospital, she thinks it’s time to talk about it. I just glance to Mac. His hands casually settle behind his back in parade rest. I realize quickly, even with my arm in a sling, that I’ve done it too. He eyes a bowl on the table, but it’s empty. Must be a nervous tic. Until Matty got here, it was filled with paper clips.

“The KGB officers that escaped from their base took the drive and information with them,” she says. “We’re hunting for the living members of their little terrorist organization, but they’ve gone into hiding. At this point, the man in charge, Vladimir Andreyevich Kuznetsov—”

His face flashes on the screen. It’s the man who shot me. It’s the man who tortured me. I feel a jolt of electricity surge through my body, but I shove it down tight. Matty pauses for a moment, then continues.

“—we’re trying to track him down. If we find him, we find the intel we’re looking for.”

I scan Mac in my periphery. I know we’ve both gotten older, but he’s not the kid I met in Boston anymore. I can’t believe it’s been this long. I don’t know why I keep holding on.

I know exactly why I keep holding on. I just won’t admit it to myself.

“What’s the intel?” Riley asks.

“That’s the issue. We’re still trying to sort that out,” Matty explains.

“You were willin’ to die over some intel you didn’t even know?!” Jack says in disbelief. I glance to him, but I don’t give him the benefit of an answer. At least, the answer he wants. But I read the room, and notice a few expressions as I go: Riley looks surprised; Bozer is confused, his brow furrowed; Jack looks pissed and Mac… Mac looks to me, then down at the floor. I don’t know what he’s feeling. That emotion I couldn’t identify is back again.

“In the meantime, I want all five of you to stay on call. Once we get his location, we’ll be moving forward on apprehension or annihilation.”

I finally turn back around as Jack scoffs. “That’s it? No mission, no nothing? We can go home?” Jack says, attempting to get Matty to either smack him or laugh.

“You’re dismissed for the day. Although, I gotta know,” she continues, addressing me. “What’s all this business about you two knowing each other before Phoenix?”

Mac and I finally make eye contact. It just makes my blood boil. I don’t know why she’s antagonizing me. I don’t deserve this bullshit. I just want to shoot something.

“We did” is all I say.

“”How did you meet?” She encourages.

“Why don’t you check our files? I’m sure it’s all in there,” I snap.

I don’t care how awkward the feeling in the room gets. Matty seems to feel it too. She starts glancing from me to Mac and back again. But, in traditional Matty fashion, she continues pushing.

“If it was that good, then I’ve gotta know—”

“The meeting was good,” I say sharply. This time I stare down Mac. He instinctively crosses his arms. “Too bad the years after it weren’t.”

Bozer lets out a low whistle. No one wants to make eye contact, except for me and Mac. With his arms crossed tightly over his chest, I watch his jaw set. He’s too good to say something in front of his boss. But I’m not.

“Thanks for the update, Matty,” I muster, then start towards the exit as fast as I can. I hear Jack calling for me behind me, but I choose to ignore it until he catches me on my good arm once I’ve made it out the door.

“Thea, Jesus. What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Like you haven’t said shit like that in front of Matty.”

“That’s not what I mean. You of all people know that.”

“What’s that supposed to—”

“You’re one of the smartest people I know, act like it!” He snaps. “If you don’t remember, I never told you I was working with the kid, either.”

“We’ve sorted that out. Besides, you didn’t know. I never told you. It wasn’t your fault.”

The other three finally make it out of the building, with Bozer speaking low to Mac. I can’t help but glare at him over Jack’s shoulder.

“Stop it. I know what you’re doing. Stop squaring up. Dammit, Thea, you’re five foot three. You’ve gotta stop trying to pick fights with people bigger than you.”

He forces me to take a step back, but Mac just shakes his head. “You owe me an apology. I did not deserve that in there. And in front of Matty? What were you thinking?”

“Really? Really. What was I thinking?” I begin. I feel my blood boiling. “You never told me!” I yell. Jack has to pull me back from him as I lunge and I don’t care how badly it hurts. “I thought you were dead!”

“Woah, wait, what?” Riley says, holding her hands out in front of her. I think she’s trying to calm the two of us, but I just want to punch someone.

“Oh, I’m sure he never told you,” I say to her. “Like he never told me.”

“AJ, will you just—” Mac begins, but I start laughing.

“Will I just what? Will I calm down? Will I take a step back? I meet you, I write to you for years, I pour my damn soul out to you, then I don’t hear from you again. I lose Jack, I lose you, I assume you’re dead!” The tears start flowing freely down my face. “Then, then, when I find you, you’re working with Jack! How the hell am I supposed to feel?”

Jack still stands in between us, holding up his hands to each of us to keep us apart.

“AJ, I told you! Thornton threw me undercover—”

“I wrote you every week,” I say, using my sleeve to wipe my face.

“This isn’t my fault. Look at Thornton. You can’t trust anything she did. I wrote t— ”

I cut him off. “Thornton hated me. The only reason she kept me around instead of firing me was because she wanted me to get killed in the field.”

“AJ, listen to me,” Mac tries at the same time Jack says, “That ain’t true, Thea.” I just throw his hand off of me. With that, I’m done. I’m done.

“Don’t touch me. Don’t fucking touch me. You should have just let me die in Siberia.”

I finally rip myself away from Jack and head for my motorcycle. They call for me, but I don’t listen. I throw on my helmet, start my Bonneville and get the hell away from that place.

* * *

I speed through the canyon freeway and head up the familiar, almost abandoned roads northwest of Pasadena until I made it to the only place I can find peace anymore.

When I step inside, I’m greeted warmly by the guard dog German Shepherd, Persephone, and then her owner, John.

“You have impeccable timing,” he says, pulling one of the rental guns off the wall. The Marine Corps veteran continues chuckling as he collects some supplies for me. “We’ve got a sniper class right now. I’m about to go down. They should be shootin’ soon.”

I trade my bag, keys, and helmet for some ammo, earplugs and the SOCOM MK 13 he keeps behind the counter. “Want me to put the fear of God into ‘em?”

“I would love nothing more.”

I take the waiting camo baseball cap from his hand and slip it on my head, then get a head start down to the range. With each step, my rage starts to dissipate. Nothing like scaring some wannabes to improve a day.

I sneak into the back of the class, hoping no one notices my late entry, and join them when we go find spots to shoot at. John keeps talking about come ups and come downs but I just fiddle with the gun he let me borrow.

I hear a chuckle from what looks like a frat boy next to me. He nudges his friend.

“What’s she doin’ here?”

“Is she gonna even be able to handle the recoil?”

I ignore them, checking each moving part like I do in the field. John turns us loose, and immediately the nearest one inches closer to me.

“Do you need any help handling that kind of machinery?” He says, giving me a wink.

I don’t have enough patience to deal with this kind of behavior today. I just turn the baseball cap backwards so I can see and go back to aiming at the target.

I put in my earplugs, although at this point, I don’t really need them. John knows that.

The rest of the class starts setting up to fire. The two next to me don’t take enough time to even hit the bullseyes they’ve been given.

For me, it’s like riding a bike. I breathe. I account for the wind. I’m the last one to shoot.

I line up the target in my sights. I adjust. I breathe in. I squeeze the trigger. My good shoulder takes the brunt of the recoil, but it still jars me, pushing me into a bout of pain. I don’t mind. It almost feels good.

“She didn’t even hit the target,” the frat boy’s friend mutters.

“How did you all do?” John says, pacing down the line as the class all starts to stand up. He inspects each of the 100-yard targets with his binoculars. “Not too bad. Not bad at all. You both need to breathe,” he mentions, getting down to me and my new friends. But he stops at mine and lets out a single chuckle.

The entire class looks down the line to me. I stand tall—as tall as I can—and instinctively tuck my hands behind my back.

“Sir, she didn’t even hit the target,” the frat boy says, stealing the line from his friend.

“I think you’ll see that she did,” John says. He’s enjoying it too much. He always enjoys it too much when I come over during a sniper class. “Take a look through your scopes to the 1000-yard target.”

There’s a bustle as each member in the class looks through their scopes and deals with the information they’re given.

“This is Sergeant First Class AJ Harper. As you can see, she’s significantly better than you. A lot of you could learn something from her: you can’t judge a book by its cover. Don’t assume you or your target knows everything. The moment you assume, you die.”

Seems a little overkill, but it gets the point across, and I think the frat boys now think I’m a real life spy. They’re right, of course, but I don’t need to confirm that.

“Not my best shot,” I admit, more to John than the class. “But I did get shot about a month ago.”

“I never know whether to take you seriously, or just ignore the shit you say,” John mutters.

John sets me up on a separate part of the course as the rest of them finish up their day’s training inside. I take shots on his range for a few hours, until he’s ready to close up. The sun is starting to set, and it does play tricks on my eyes, but I do start to feel better. When I imagine the target is Rio or Thornton or my pile of lonely regrets, it does start to put things into perspective.

“Glad you stopped by,” John finally says. “But you haven’t been out that long since…”

I don’t even make a sound when I trade him back for my belongings.

“Same issue, or different issue?” He asks quietly. He knows I won’t divulge anything personal. He knows better.

“Same issue, different reason,” I admit. “Thanks, John.”

I head for the door, petting Persephone on the way out.

“I like it better when I don’t see you for a while, Harper,” He calls after me.

“Me too, John. Me too.”

* * *

My soul’s quieted down a little by the time I make it home. I lock up my Bonnie at my apartment building and head towards the door, pulling on my sling, but I feel his presence in the shadows, lurking.

“Do not scare me right now, Walker.”

“I wasn’t plannin’ on scarin’ you,” he mutters, coming out of the shadows with what looks like three giant bags of food.

“How long you been standin’ there?” I ask, unlocking the main door then heading upstairs to my apartment.

“About five minutes.”

“How’d you time that so well?”

“That’s how well I know you, Thea.”

It’s been years since I’ve really, truly heard the nickname he gave me when we met. He’s the only one still around who calls me that, besides on a SAT phone call or in passing. Everyone else knows me by AJ.

I unlock my door and toss my keys onto my dining room table when we make it inside.

“What you said to Mac today was unfair,” he begins.

“I should have known you were gonna do this. Dammit, Walker, I don’t want to hear it from you.”

He sets the food down on the table and approaches me slowly. I don’t look at him. I force myself not to, not until he puts his hand under my chin.

“Are you okay? Like, actually okay.”

“No,” I immediately say. My eyes well with tears. “No, I’m not okay.”

He pulls me into an embrace. I bury my face in his chest.

“Dammit, Walker—”

“I have so missed you sayin’ that. ‘Dammit, Walk this’, ‘Dammit, Walker, that’. I should make that our ringtone.”

I chuckle into his chest, and he finally starts to pull away.

“I’m not done.”

“Okay,” he says, pulling me back into him. I clutch so tightly to his Metallica shirt, I’m afraid to let go. “I’m sorry I never told ya I was working with Mac. By the time we made the connection, you had stopped writing.”

I wipe my tears on my sleeve again. “But he could have told me—”

He sighs, holding me at arm’s length like he didn’t want to let go. “I was with him on his first op. Your letters didn’t get to him, and his didn’t get to you.”

I try to process for a second, until it all stops. ”What do you mean, his letters?”

“He tried to write to you, too. This wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t your fault, either. It was the damned universe or something. You never were in the right place at the right time. Until now.”

Nothing seems to compute. “I didn’t know about the letters.”

“And the idiot never told you. He could’ve today, but you wouldn’t give him a chance to explain himself. I have told you for years. You both just need to talk it out.”

“Don’t put this all on me. That’s unfair.”

“You need to give the kid five minutes to explain. Why do you think he’s always fightin’ you? If he didn’t care, he wouldn’t be causin’ a ruckus.”

He’s right. I didn’t know about the letters. I didn’t know he wrote to me. I never thought to ask. I was too busy being mad at him to say anything. This entire time, he tried to get me to me, too. And I never thought to ask, to mention… this is just as much my fault as it was his.

“Thea, he built a portable shocker thing in Russia to save you.”

“A defibrillator?”

“Never seen that kid work so fast,” he whispers. “There’s no reason you shouldn’t give him a chance now.”

“I need to go talk to him,” I say, struggling to find my keys through my tears.

“No, you don’t,” Jack says, pulling my keys from my hands. “You need to eat, and you need to rest.”

“Whatever,” I say, poking about what he had dumped on my kitchen table. “Jesus Christ, Walk, how much food did you get?”

“Enough. And I am so not having this fight with you,” Jack says. I unload a bunch of fried chicken, mashed potatoes, steamed rice, collard greens, cornbread muffins, and what appears to be a whole pie.

“Does the place have food left?”

“Don’t worry about them, they make it fresh every day, baby,” Jack says, finding, somehow in my mess of a kitchen, usable utensils.

“Isn’t his birthday coming up?” I ask. I’ve been hit so many times in the head lately I’m not positive.

“Yeah, and I’m gonna convince him to have at least a party, so you better be there.”

“He’s not gonna want me there.”

“Yes, he is. Trust me. Just go to the nearest Goodwill—you have like, six options—find a bunch of weird shit and throw it in a box. Easy.”

“I just tore him apart,” I say, trying to eat whatever it is he brought. I’m not that hungry anymore, but I force myself to do it anyway.

I mean, everything I thought was a lie. He never thought to even mention it to me. Not in Rio. Not in Siberia.

I can’t really blame him. Each time we’ve seen each other since we met has been death defying. So it really wasn’t that much of a priority.

But still. I didn’t give him a chance to explain himself, and I should have. This entire time, I’ve harbored a hatred for this guy because of him not communicating, and then I’m not communicating myself.

“Okay, I love you, but get outta your damn head.”

I look up to Jack, who glares at me over his soul food feast.

“You’re doin’ that thing again,” he says, waving his hands around his head.

“What thing?”

“That thing.”

“I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”

“When you go deep inside and might never come out.”

“Maybe I don’t want to,” I say. “Maybe I don’t want to.”


	6. Glaukôpis: Wide-Eyed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AJ attends Mac’s birthday party in an attempt to apologize to him for years of hatred and anger, but gets more than she bargained for in an argument with the younger spy.

_Marina del Rey, LA  
_ **March 24**

When I finally wake up on Friday, I regret it. All my bones creak. I don’t want to get out of bed, but I really should. I really need to.

I check my clock. It’s past one. Not that I’m surprised, mind you; I should be getting more sleep than I have been, and I didn’t set an alarm.

But there are no dreams. Not tonight.

I check my phone and see I have six missed messages. All of them are from Jack.

_Mac’s birthday party is tonight. U comin?_

_Plz Thea_

_Look hot._

_I mean u always do_

_Is that weird?_

_U ok?_

I text him back. _You text like a teenage girl circa 2006. I’ll come tonight. Calm down and send me his address._

He sends it to me, but adds another text. _How r u doin today_

_Better. Still worried._

_Welcome 2 my life, worryin bout u_

_Isn’t it harder to type the number 2 than it is to type the word ‘to’?_

He doesn’t text me back.

This is a dumb idea. I shouldn’t be doing this, but something keeps pushing me towards it.

I better not fucking regret this.

* * *

I take off my helmet and try to fix my hair in my side mirror. It’s not too bad—I’ve learned how to mostly stave off helmet hair—but I still want to look nice. Fix my hair, then rearrange my screaming-in-pain arm in my sling.

I’m already regretting it as I head up to the front door of his house, holding the nicely gift wrapped box I got in Westwood. I go to knock, but it seems like it’s unlocked, due to the loud music I hear from the other side.

When I head inside, I already feel awkward. I shouldn’t have worn this. It appears I should have worn some sort of clubbing outfit. My jeans and leather jacket combo make me stick out like a sore thumb.

That’s okay. That’s fine. I can handle this.

Jack’s sitting around the fire pit when I step out to the back porch. He immediately jumps up to talk to me, thank God.

“You made it! How’re you doin’?”

I immediately make eye contact with Mac as he leans against the back of the porch with Bozer. I’m not sure, but I think he straightens. He doesn’t look away. I don’t either. Not until I respond to Jack.

“Sorry, I slept in,” I say, pushing away some flyaways. “I, uh, I shouldn’t stay long. I’m not feeling the best—”

“Are you sure you’re doin’ okay?” He says, his voice dropping low. “No harm in gettin’ checked out again.”

“I’m not getting checked out again,” I say firmly. I look around. I know about three people here. I already hate this. “I just… this feels weird. I should go. I shouldn’t be here—”

“No. Stop it. You need to be here. C’mon. It’ll be fine.”

He leads me over to the fire pit and tries to hand me a beer. I remind him I’m on serious medications, so he hands me a Sprite instead.

“Hang on, Matty’s here,” he mutters, hopping to his feet and leaving me near the fire. I can’t stand it, so I breeze past MacGyver and go to another section of the porch.

I accidentally followed Riley, who was speaking on her phone’s video chat. I glance to her, then make an indication I’m going to leave, but she peers at me.

“Hey. I gotta go. Can we chat tomorrow?”

_“Of course.”_

“Thanks, Kalei. Hey, AJ?”

I stop my obvious and frantic search for an exit and finally embrace the weirdness with her.

“Hey, Riley.”

We both lean up against the side of the porch. Here, it’s quieter. I can watch the LA skyline flicker.

“I’m sorry for how I acted the other day,” I begin. “A hell of a first impression.”

“Wasn’t my first impression of you,” she says.

“Oh?”

“Actually, it was about four months ago. You were in… Sarajevo, I think.”

I chuckle as I realize. “That’s why I recognized your voice. You were the voice inside my head. You got that satellite uplink for me.”

“I did,” she confirms, grinning. “You called me something in Serbian that I had to look up when the fear of death subsided.”

“What did I call you?” I say, suddenly fearful.

“’Moj dragi mali miš’,” she tries, and I’m already laughing. “’My dear little mouse’.”

“I was happy! I was alive! What do you want me to call you?”

“Apparently it was a Serbian term of endearment,” she says, and she’s right. “But that was how we actually met.”

“Well, I’m sorry your first physical meeting with me didn’t go as well.”

“I get you,” she says quietly. “I don’t completely blame either of you, from what I understand.”

“I’m hoping to get things cleared up tonight,” I explain, glancing to Mac. He talks to Bozer, but I see him glance this way. “If I can get enough energy and swallow my pride.”

“He’s been through a lot this last year,” she says quietly. “And you have, too. Don’t you think it’s time?”

“Time for what?”

She just smiles at me, then perks up at something Jack’s saying after clanking his beer. “Let me know if you need anything,” she says. “But this is my cue. We’re going to do cake. You comin’?”

“I’ll be there in a second,” I say, hearing Jack declaim something about Mac being weird about birthdays. Riley leans down to press the button on the stereo, and that one Salt-N-Pepa song starts to play. I know Jack picked the song. I hang back, still out of frame. He blows out his candles, flanked by Jack, Riley, and Bozer.

It hits me. I don’t belong here. I never belonged here, not even after what Riley said.

I don’t feel well anyway. I’m exhausted. My shoulder hurts—sharp, shooting pains have started radiating to my fingertips. My broken ribs just make it harder to breathe. I should get home before they get any worse.

I weave past the fire pit, past the cake and the large Hawaiian food vendor, and slip back inside. I shouldn’t be here. He doesn’t need me to be here. I touch the front door handle, but I stop. No, I’m right. I should just go home, and—and—

A hand touches my good shoulder. “Jack, I’m going home. I shouldn’t have come.”

I turn. It’s definitely not Jack. It’s Mac.

“You need to get back to your party,” I comment, noticing they’re cutting into the cake outside. “Don’t skip out on my account.”

“No, I think you owe me at least a conversation. I know it took a lot for you to come here. You can at least give me that.”

I sigh. He’s right. I did swallow my pride a little and show up to this party. He leads me over to the kitchen, and I sit down on one of the stools. He leans on the counter top, so I have to look at him. He’s wearing light blue, and it perfectly matches his eyes. It makes all of this even worse.

“How are you feeling?” He asks. I see him pick up a paper clip. I don’t know where he even got it, but he starts bending it absentmindedly. If he could ever do anything absentmindedly.

“Um, I could be better, but I could be worse,” I say, looking down at my hand. I can still see the cuts, now healing, from the handcuffs. I pull my jacket sleeve over them. “I guess I have you to thank for that.”

“I wasn’t gonna leave you high and dry like that.” He already looks mad, like it’s building.

“You should have forgot about me. You should have went after the drive instead. You should have just let me—”

He almost slams his hands against the counter top. It actually startles me. “Dammit, AJ. I don’t get you. I don’t get it.”

“Don’t get what?”

He’s suddenly confused, pissed, and I don’t know what else. “You’re more worried about that damn drive than your own life. Why are you so willing to die?” He asks. I don’t get it. I don’t know why he’s so vehemently fighting me. I try to find a good answer, I try to think of something that would be good enough, but he just scoffs. “You don’t even have an answer for me.”

“I don’t,” I say shortly. It sounds hollow.

He points accusingly at me. “You don’t place enough value on your own life, and that’s your problem. That’s always been your problem. And you’re too stubborn to realize it.”

“How many lives could depend on that information?” I say. I just sound like I’m trying to backtrack. I try again. “I didn’t know, sure, but I would be willing to die to… to make sure others don’t.”

“Yeah, I get that. I do. But… but you just don’t care. Aren’t you… worried? Concerned?”

“About… about what?”

He takes a heavy breath, he looks off somewhere else. Anywhere but me. “What about the people you’d leave behind?”

He finally looks at me, and when I don’t answer, he drops the paper clip and starts for the door to the porch. He’s bent it to resemble a pen. When I pick it up, I feel the years of letters in the palm of my hand. I can’t let him walk away. Not now.

“I kept writing to you whenever we got back from ops. For years, that worked. And I needed it. I needed it, because of Jack, and because of DXS, and then… I thought you were dead. And since we only communicated through writing and had no real relationship, I didn’t think anyone would tell me. I tried to ask Thornton, but she always sent me back out. I never had breaks between ops. I never came home.”

He turns away from the door, crossing his arms over his chest. He just looks down at the floor.

“I assumed you had died,” I try. “I was alone. No Jack. No… no you. I had nobody. And then Rio.” My voice cracks. I can’t stop it. The tears well in my eyes. “Rio was… I didn’t know what to do. You had been alive all that time, and you had been working with Jack, and you were at the same organization I worked for. I felt so lucky but so forgotten all at once. And once I got past the shock, once we got home, Thornton wouldn’t even let me talk to you. She sent me back in the field as soon as I healed. She hated me. She hated me so much, and she just wanted me dead. It wasn’t your fault. You didn’t know I had worked with Jack. And he didn’t realize that his Thea was your AJ. I didn’t know you tried to reach out as much as I did. Jack told me. Thank God for Jack. I’m… I’m gonna apologize to Matty and hope she doesn’t throw me in a hole like Thornton did.”

He breaks. His angry demeanor fades a little. “Matty won’t do that to you. She trusts you.”

But I’m not done. “You didn’t deserve what I said. It was years of frustration and confusion and anger all coming out at once. Thanks… thanks for coming for me,” I drift, touching my neck and feeling the rawness from my sling.

I don’t apologize just yet. I still need to get everything off my chest first, but in the pause, he speaks up.

“As soon as I joined DXS, they threw me into ops with Jack. AJ, I wrote to you, too. I wrote to you every week. I thought you had died, too.”

I grasp the paper clip, flipping it in my fingertips. “I’m sorry, Mac. For the longest time, you were my only real, close friend. I should have been happy when I found you alive. I was so upset. I…” I’m about to get even more personal, but I don’t want to get that deep right now. Instead, I feel the tears running down my face, so I try to hide it by looking away.

With barely a touch to my cheek, he turns my face towards his. With his thumb, he wipes some of my tears.

Four times I had ever been with him. Boston, Rio, Siberia, now. I’ve felt like my heart was stopping three of those times, and it didn’t jump like this in Boston.

“I’m sorry, too,” he says, dropping his hand but not his eyes. I hold my breath, but as the silence grows, I turn towards my gift.

“It’s not much, but I figured they were appropriate,” I say, fighting to get rid of the tears.

He opens the box gingerly, his face blooming from a smirk to a full smile as he pulls out the pair of fountain pens. He just smiles and looks down to the paperclip in my hand.

“I figured you could use one to write, and you could pull apart the other one.”

“It’s like you know me or something,” he says, slipping them back into the box. I laugh, but the humor swiftly fades.

He looks at me for longer than he should, like he wants to say something else, but can’t bring himself to do it. 

“We should get back to the party,” he says quietly, “Jack’s going to start yelling because he doesn’t know where I went.”

“Oh, he does that to you, too?”

“All the damn time,” Mac grumbles. “And in moments when he shouldn’t be yelling.”

“I love him though,” I say, feeling myself smile. “I… I’ve missed him just as much as I missed you.”

His smile fades a little. I realize what I said, and mine does too.

“Mac? I… I’m so, so sorry.”

“I’m sorry, too,” he says, standing near the door to the porch. He waits, like he has something else to say, but doesn’t know how to say it.

“Where do we go from here?” I ask.

He draws a breath. He waits. “I don’t want to start over. But we can move on.”

I let out my own breath, the one I feel like I’ve been holding for years. “I didn’t know,” I whisper.

“Didn’t know what?” He takes a step towards me.

“I didn’t know I still had people to leave behind.”

I start to leave, to head for the front door, until his fingers graze my hand. He uses my own momentum to turn me around. I whirl. I don’t know what he wants, not until his hand graces my cheek, my jaw, and suddenly, he’s kissing me. It doesn’t compute until he’s pulling away and I’m leaning towards him, not wanting him to go. I realize I’m holding my breath. I’m still standing there, wide-eyed, in confusion, in awe, as he walks away.


	7. Tritogeneia: From the Water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After an unexpected reaction at Mac’s birthday party, AJ is left in a state of confusion. But as they try to rebuild what they had before Rio, they find that their long distance relationship meant more than either truly realized.

_Marina del Rey, LA  
_ **Late March**

Everything hurts when I wake up. It’s probably from me riding, but my ribs throb and my shoulder burns. I’m doing too much, I know that, but it doesn’t stop me from wanting to.

I try to function like a normal person. I try to clean, I try to eat, but there’s nothing in the fridge anymore. I want to go out and try to run errands, but I don’t feel like it.

I’m just so damn confused. I don’t know what to think now.

I apologize for my behavior—which was how long in the making—and he just ups and kisses me. My brain just keeps analyzing and over-analyzing and I can’t stop.

Instead of fussing, I open my balcony door to let the breeze in. I sit back down on my couch, slipping back into a small coma as I watch my movie. I regret nothing about watching a kid's movie. The Atlantean expedition team barely escapes the Leviathan when I hear my name from my balcony. I stumble towards the door, leaning onto the railing as I try to find the source.

It's Mac. He's alone, his hands in his pockets and his maroon Jeep parked on the street. He’s in blue again. I hate this already. He shields his eyes from the heavy LA sun as he peers up. "Can you buzz me up, or should I climb the balcony again?"

"The neighbors are gonna start asking questions."

"Better go with the front door then," he says, heading towards the complex door. I shake my head. I don't know what he's doing here, and to be honest, I'm too proud to ask. Instead, I go to my door and buzz him inside, then lean on my door frame until he makes it up the stairs. I silently step aside, allowing him to come in. I don't know what his endgame is here, but I'm not quite ready to ask.

"What're you watching?"

"Don't make fun of me," I begin. He squints at my television until he gives me an excited face of recognition.

"_Atlantis?_ I loved this when I was a kid!"

"Of course, you were a kid," I say, taking a drink of my water and rolling my eyes, stopping the film. I gesture towards my balcony, and he quickly takes a seat, looking out over the photogenic parking lot of my apartment building. It’s fine. I’d rather be out here than in there.

"Why'd you come over here, Mac?"

His amused smirk falls a little as he thinks about his answer.

“After everything you told me last night, about Thornton and Rio and… well, everything, I thought you could use some… I don’t know, something good.”

"It's been rough, admittedly," I say. My ribs still hurt. It still hurts to breathe. I’m not sure if the first thing is the reason for the second thing. They could be unrelated. "But it's been better since Matty took over."

"What did Thornton make you do? What happened?"

"It's not the missions, really. I don’t think she liked my style. I started running solo—dangerous recon, solo infil and exfil, at her orders. It's just... she kept setting me up for failure. I've gotten my bell rung more times lately than I have my entire career. But this one is the worst, and it's on me."

"Siberia was a tactical nightmare," he says.

“I should have known better. It was my fault.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about,” he says, turning towards me. “You should have never survived, AJ.”

I shake my head, unconvinced. “I’m fine. I was fine.”

“Was?”

“Am,” I say. “I’m fine.”

He shifts in his seat, suddenly uncomfortable, it seems. “You were having seizures. I was there when your heart… when your heart stopped beating. You literally stopped breathing. I… I had to…” He drifts.

I look down at my hands. I try to ignore the cuts. He inches closer to me, then pushes my head up so I have to look at him. I don’t want to, but he gives me no choice. He doesn’t drop his hand immediately. Instead, he just looks at me. He looks at me like he’s seeing me again for the first, second, third time.

“AJ, I heard you say goodbye to Jack.”

“I wasn’t going to… I wasn’t gonna let him blame it on himself. I couldn’t let that happen.”

“You were going to tell me something. I heard it before the SAT phone went out."

I feel his eyes on me. He just watches me. He tends to do that: for people who’ve shared a lot of secrets with each other, we haven’t spent a lot of time together. When we do, he seems like he’s trying to read me, but can’t. But this time, this time we’re not fighting for our lives. It feels like Boston again. I’m always trying to find Boston again.

Even so, I can’t say what I was going to say. Not now. It’s too raw.

"I... I don't know what I was going to say. I was going to—to—"

"Improvise?"

I chuckle.

His voice is quiet over the sound of traffic on Lincoln Boulevard. "Wanna give me the gist?"

"Not now," I say. "Maybe someday."

He seems relatively content with that answer. I know he's going to think about it forever, and stew on it, until he gets one, but he's patient. He'll wait until the right time, then beg for the answer. I know he's thinking about it. We sit in silence for a good long while, but it’s nice. It’s kind of nice.

"You want some pizza?" I ask, and Mac perks up, suddenly listening to me again.

"Are you suggesting that because there's nothing in your fridge, and you don't want to leave?"

"That’s exactly what I’m suggesting," I say, ordering online on my phone. "Besides, we both know we're horrible cooks, so anything that comes out of this kitchen is going to be leftovers or something with instant in the name."

I sit back and wait for the delivery to show up.

“You know my friend Bozer?”

I chuckle. “I like him. He’s a cool guy. Thinks he’s smoother than he really is, but he’ll figure it out sooner or later.”

“Yeah, he’s kind of like that,” Mac says, cringing a little. “But he’s a fantastic cook.”

“His pancakes were amazing,” I admit. “I should get him to teach me, since I’m grounded for the whole summer.”

“If you ask him, he will. You’ll get a lot of commentary, but he will.”

“I’m good with commentary,” I say, fumbling with my necklace. “You should give him my number. He should have it anyway.”

“Uh, AJ?” I glance to him, and he continues. “I don’t even have your number. You never gave it to me.”

I chuckle. “Don’t blame me. I never had a phone.”

“It was 2009!”

“I only had a SAT phone!” I explain. He rolls his eyes while I beckon for his phone and put my number inside. When I hand it back, we slip into silence again. “Mac…”

“That’s not a good sign.”

“What?” I say, shaking my head. “I said your name.”

“You drew it out, like you were gonna yell at me for something.”

I look down. “No. I just… I’m sorry about Rio.”

“Why are you apologizing about Rio?” He scoffs, turning back towards me. He leans on the balcony railing. “You saved my ass.”

“We’ve never talked about Rio. Doesn’t that bother you?”

He sighs. “In our line of work, we don’t always get to debrief. Not with each other, I mean. Rio was bad, sure, but we lived through it.”

“I didn’t know you were still alive,” I admit. “I was pissed. I was so pissed. And when I found out you and Jack were workin’ together… I don’t know who I was madder at, DXS, Jack, or you.”

“You seemed pretty pissed at me.”

I chuckle, but quickly fall back into the dark line of thoughts. “I don’t know what I would have done had you not come out of that building,” I finally say. “I missed you so damn much, and then you just appeared out of nowhere just to get stuck in that explosion.”

For a second, he looks taken aback. I start to feel sick, just knowing his expression on me.

“You didn’t realize I wanted to take care of it myself, did you?” He asks.

“No. I didn’t. I assumed get Jack out of dodge, then find a way to get you out.”

“But Jack told you.”

“He told me. I ignored it.”

“I would have died in that explosion had it not been for you,” he says. It’s my turn to stop.

“You’re—you’re wrong,” I say, shaking my head. “You were headed the right way. You would have made it.”

“I couldn’t see anything,” he says. “I was hurt. I didn’t know where the exit was. And then that beam fell, which almost made the roof cave in. You got me out.”

All I can do is chuckle. Maybe I didn’t do so bad of a job in Rio as I thought.

“You said you missed me,” he says, in that place halfway between teasing and wanting to know the truth.

I don’t feel like fucking around. I’ve strategized and wrote and rewrote letters. I can count the number of times on both hands that I’ve been with Mac, and I don’t have time anymore to mince words. I’ve spent enough time on this already.

“I have missed you, Mac,” I finally say. “I’ve been overseas for so long, I forgot what it felt like.”

“Forgot what, exactly?”

“This,” I say, shrugging. “Having someone to talk to that gets it.”

The pizza arrives, and we reconvene on the porch. I desperately want to leave and be somewhere outside, but this is the best I’m going to get right now.

“What happened between you and Jack?”

“You’re asking about Tinos,” I say, grabbing my drink for support.

“I’m asking about Tinos,” he confirms.

I consider not telling him for a moment, but his face is so compelling. “Walk and I were on assignment. We were going to be headed for South America, but they shifted us towards Greece first.” I feel myself drifting, but quickly bring it back. “It was the Megalócharē tēs Tēnou. Our Lady of Tinos, the feast for the Dormition of the Virgin Mary, Greek Orthodox. Massive pilgrimage, thousands of people. Naturally, a massive terror threat. Walker found us a great location to scout from. We were there for a good ten hours. I hadn’t seen anything yet. I hadn’t sorted anything out. I hadn’t figured out a strategy. Because I didn’t think we were being watched.

“They snatched Walker when he went on a supply run. I had to make a decision: let them take him and get distracted long enough so I could find and disarm the bomb they had planted, or go after him.”

Mac nods, seemingly knowing where I’m going with this.

“I decided to go after Walk. Against everything I knew, everything I had been trained for. I sniped all five of them in the ruins of the Exomvorugo Castle. They were dead before they knew what happened. And by the time I had gotten down to their location, Jack was almost dead.”

He sits silently, patiently, waiting for me to continue. I feel myself staring off into the distance, remembering what I did. “In the eight hours it took for me to track them down, they broke his collarbone and four ribs. Next were his kneecaps. They beat the shit out of him.”

“You did what you had to do,” he tries. But I continue.

“Mac, they would have killed him if I disarmed the bomb. If I even could have. We both knew it. I should have seen it coming.”

“There’s no way you could have—”

“I could have. I know I could have. But I was blinded, because Jack is family. I got too close to him and that’s what got 167 people killed,” I say. “I didn’t do my job. I focused on one person instead of the 167 and let the bomb explode. But Jack… Jack knows how much it hurt me, but he still makes sure I know it wasn’t my fault. That’s why it was always his ‘I owe you one’. But I’ve used it up, I guess.”

“That’s Jack for you,” Mac tries. It’s not helping. “What happened after?”

“Jack healed up. As soon as he did, they remanded us to South America. To Matty."

“You knew Matty before?”

I just give him a smirk.

"Now she... she loved me."

"Past tense?"

"Nah, I think she still does. Even after my outburst."

"She'll be fine. It's Matty. What have you been working on since…”

“Since Rio?” I say, coming out and just saying it. “A lot. A lot of recovery. Mostly South America, a little in the Middle East. I was doing a lot of jobs in Argentina and Paraguay.”

He brightens. “Really? We were in Uruguay for a job a while back. Just Jack and I. Not a good one, either.”

“Oh, yeah. That quicksand could have easily been the last of you two.”

He squints at me a little. “How do you know about Uruguay?”

I know I’ve said too much, suddenly, but it’s too late to take it back. “Yeah, well. I had been around Rivera for another op. Matty called it in. I hunted for you guys, until I hear your incessant screaming, then redirected your exfil. You were across a valley that I couldn’t get across with my gear, but they could get in with the chopper and drag you guys out. That’s why… that’s why I never came and did it myself. Then I was remanded to Siberia...”

His jaw just drops. “Jack is dead set on the fact that we had a guardian angel that time.”

“Yeah, well, her name is AJ.”

He just chuckles. “Well, thank you. We weren’t sure Matty would come for us.”

“You guys skipped an exfil! Matty was irate!”

“Yeah, and we heard it from her, too.”

I groan, trying to stretch, although this is the most food I've had in a while whilst still feeling okay.

"When's the last time you were home?"

"What is this, Twenty Goddamn Questions? Uhh, 2009." He looks surprised. I don't know why. "When I interviewed with Thornton. When I met you," I say.

"Damn. I didn't realize it's been that long," he says. "We should go sometime. Remember how you always told me you would take me to the Union Oyster House?”

“Next time we both have time off,” I say. I know it’s an empty promise. “We should go to Boston. Do the Freedom Trail. Hit the Boston Tea Party Museum. Eat our weight in seafood."

"It's a deal," he says. I'm not sure where this is coming from: making plans. Decisions. Being with him. It's all so strange, it makes me antsy. I clean up the remnants of our food coma and long for the outside. He leans against my counter top as I put the rest of the food away.

"You're whining every time you look out your balcony. Wanna take a walk?"

“I desperately need a reason to get out of this apartment,” I say, immediately grabbing my keys.

“It’ll probably do you some good,” he says. “Lead the way.”

I lock up my apartment—which still smells like pizza—and we head out. The marina doesn’t smell much better, but the air and sun feel good.

“Hey, what happened to your old tech?” I ask, knowing full well what I’m getting myself into.

He visibly bristles. “You mean Nikki Carpenter?”

“Yeah. Heard some weird stuff goin’ on with her. Something about going under real far with the CIA.”

“Uh, do you have clearance for that?” He asks under his breath.

“I have clearance for everything, go on.”

“Well, you know about as much as I do,” he says sharply. “But we can’t change things now.”

We keep walking. He walks a little faster and I try to catch up. “I didn’t realize you were together,” I infer, and he shakes his head. The sun is starting to set, and it just makes his eyes look even bluer than normal. I can’t help but fixate.

“Not anymore. It’s… it was complicated. But it’s over now. She chose her country. I can’t say I would do the same.”

I don’t have a good answer for him. I’ve never been in a situation quite like that. “Sorry… sorry for bringing it up.”

“It’s fine.”

We continue walking in silence, and I feel his tension start to ease. The sound of water soothes me. It sounds like the piers at home.

“You’re thinkin’ about Boston again, aren’t you?”

“It's weird,” I say, trying to get him to slow his pace. “I just miss it. Even our shitty apartment near the Bunker Hill Monument. Just… it’s always gonna be home, you know?”

He doesn’t look at me. He just smiles. He looks down to his boots.

“When we met, I definitely knew you were from Boston,” he admits.

“How?”

“Your ridiculous accent,” he says, over-exaggerating the middle word.

“I didn’t have an accent,” I say, shaking my head. “I was already working on getting rid of it.”

“Sure, it’s mostly gone now, but damn, you still had one.”

“There’s no way—“

”’If ah told ya, ah would have t’kill ya,’” he tries, and I just cringe.

“No, no, no. Stop that. None of that.”

“That’s what you sounded like.”

“You sound like my mom doing a horrible impression of my dad.”

His jaw just drops as he starts to laugh. I mimic a mic drop.

“Alright. Well, that might be true,” he says quietly. "You never told me what happened to your mom."

"That's by design," I say. I don't mean to be short with him, but that's how it comes out. I instinctively touch my necklace. "Sorry. Sorry, I shouldn't be like that. I... lung cancer. Dad smoked, and she reaped the benefits, I guess. I was... I was fourteen, I think. She was gone before they even realized it.”

“Your necklace,” he says.

“What about it?”

“It was hers, wasn’t it?”

I let it fall over my hand. We stop at the corner, and he steadies my hand, looking at the small charm.

“It’s a patron saint medal,” I explain as he flips it over. “Jeanne d’Arc.”

He smiles. “Patron saint of soldiers, women in service, prisoners, and martyrs.”

I tuck it away again, without another word about it, but he starts in again.

“What about your dad?”

“Dad... dad was an asshole, but he was my asshole. He never stopped smoking, and it killed him, too."

"When did he die?"

I swallow hard. "About eight years ago."

He seemingly does the math. "2009?"

"...March."

"AJ..." He draws out my name.

"I had his funeral, then my interview with Thornton," I say. "It doesn't matter now." I keep walking. He doesn’t.

"Of course, it matters! AJ, why didn't you tell me?"

"You never asked," I say. "It never came up."

He finally catches up to me. "You were running from your family, too," he says quietly. We continue to walk silently, until I hear him speak up again. I'm hoping he changes the subject, and he does.

“Walker. I mean, I get the nickname, but I haven’t heard that one before.”

“Yeah, Walker. I gave him that one in Delta. I was Thea, he was Walker, Texas Ranger. Eventually, we realized the length of his nickname was a little long. So we shortened it and it’s stuck.”

“You know something?”

“I know some things, continue,” I say.

He smirks. “You’ve never told me your full name.”

“What? You haven’t looked in my file?”

He raises his eyebrow at me. “Have you looked in my file?”

“No. Never could get access. Tried a few times. But I can’t believe you don’t know. Besides, I told you you’d have to get to know me first.”

“Don’t you think I deserve to know?”

“Yeah, well, maybe,” I say, shrugging. “You did just make fun of my old accent.”

“Well, I do know Jack calls you Thea. But if your initials are AJ…”

“You deserve to know. Although, if you do know, you’ll be like, one of three people in the world that do.”

“Jack, Matty, and me?”

“Okay, three with an asterisk. Anyone with security clearance high enough. Oversight knows for sure. I’ve got enough black marks in my file.”

“Is it really that secret?”

I shrug. “I just never use it. I never thought it fit me.”

“Well, let me think about it for a second,” he muses.

“Are you going to try to deduce my real name?” I deadpan. Okay, secretly, I’m enjoying this.

“Your call sign is Little Owl. He calls you Thea. It couldn’t be Athena, could it?”

“What the actual fuck!” I say, louder than I probably should. “Jack told you, didn’t he? Jack definitely told you.”

He keeps a straight face for barely a moment before breaking. “Yeah, Jack told me. I like it, for the record. Goddess of wisdom, strategic warfare, crafts, and skill. Pretty fitting for a sniper.”

I can’t snark off, because I’m nearly taken aback.

“Were you named for anyone?” He asks.

“My grandma on my dad’s side. She was Greek. Grew up in Thebes before coming to Boston. Athena Irakliou,” I say. “Irakliou means—”

“Hercules,” he says, almost smugly. “I know.”

“Sometimes I forget you know basically everything,” I say. “My parents wanted my name to be like hers—two strong figures. But mom’s family is French, so you see where that got me.”

“Jeanne d’Arc.”

“You actually say it right.”

“Athena Jeanne. Shame you don’t use it more.”

“Too frilly for me.”

“You’re named after two warriors, and you’re calling it frilly?”

“That’s coming from a guy named Angus.”

He chuckles, smirks. He’s illuminated by the sunset, the orange beams casting golden shadows through his hair. It takes everything in me to remember to breathe. I’ve been here before, but this is so much better. This is so much more painful.

“Even my name couldn’t keep me safe this time,” I say. “I still don’t know how I got out. That was all you, Mac.”

“You just need a better good luck charm.”

“What, this isn’t good enough?” I say, linking my fingers around my patron saint medal. But he’s already set and he’s moving. He slips into one of the kitschy shops along the strip like he has a genius idea.

“Dammit, where are you going?” I mutter, watching him search through the shop quickly and methodically. It’s messy, it’s kind of dark, and I lose him to the madness of tie-dye and incense. “Mac. Mac?”

His voice comes out from somewhere on the other side of the room. “In Homer’s works, did you know Athena’s most common nickname meant ‘bright-eyed’?”

“I did—”

But he can’t stop now. He’s on a roll. “The word, Glaukopis, is actually a combination of words meaning ‘bluish-green’ and ‘eye’. It also comes from the same root as the Greek word for little owl.”

“I picked my call sign.”

He continues to fuss until he seemingly finds what he wants. I’m waiting for something ridiculous, but he pops out of nowhere, looking excited as hell. It’s enough to make me chuckle.

“Have you ever heard of the mati?”

I squint at him. “Who are you, Wikipedia?”

He goes to the cashier, seemingly bent on buying whatever it was for me, and continues his line of questioning. “What about the xematiasma?”

“Dad taught me it a long time ago, why? The ritual to get rid of the evil eye?”

He thanks the cashier and he ushers me back outside. He shows me his new gift for me, and I’m taken aback. I don’t know how he found that in a kitschy store like this. It’s a delicate necklace with a small version of the evil eye, bright blue. Without asking, he slips it off the piece of cardboard, then lifts up my hair just enough to hook it around my neck. It hangs in tandem with my patron saint medal.

“There. One to help you stay out of trouble, one to help you if you get into it.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” I say, as he walks backwards. He’s wearing a wide smirk.  
“Consider it a gift.”

“You still didn’t have to,” I say, rushing to fall into step with him.

We segue into silence. I’m fine with it. I’m better with silence. But as we continue walking, the sunset shining right in our eyes, we end up on the beach.

“Well, shit,” I mutter.

“’Shit’, what?” He asks.

“I guess I didn’t realize how close I was to Venice Beach.”

“You didn’t know?”

“I’m not usually home this long.”

“You got an apartment here and didn’t know how close you were to one of the biggest tourist stops in LA?”

“I’m telling you, I’m never here,” I say. I lean over to pick up my shoes and let my feet sink into the still warm sand. I try to ignore the garbage. It hadn’t gotten very warm today, so the beach was nearly empty. I felt better that way. Less threats. Easier exit.

Stop thinking about exits. You don’t always need an exit. All you've done is look for exits. 

I turn to look at the sunset. It casts orange, pink light on the unassuming clouds. It feels good to be truly warm again. I don’t want to go back to the cold anytime soon.

I look back to Mac. Wherever he was looking moments before, he looks away; regardless, it’s nice to be with him again. Good, bad, or indifferent, he and Jack may be the oldest friends I have and I have no intention of ruining that. Even now.

“What are you thinking about?” Mac says quietly. I almost have to strain to hear him.

“Why?”

“You’re smiling.”

I chuckle. Mac always had that ability to just call me out at the drop of a hat. But he’s right. It’s the first time I’m happy in a long time. Right now, I’m just thankful to be alive.

“I never properly thanked you for Siberia,” I say in a small voice. “You and Jack… you risked a lot for me.”

“We weren’t gonna let you die like that,” he says. He stays, and I keep walking. “Not if we had something to do about it.”

“So does that mean it’s my turn to owe you my life?” I say over my shoulder. “Or are we even, because of Rio?”

“You don’t owe me anything.” He wanders steps behind me, his hands in his pockets.

“I always feel like I should,” I admit. I look out across the ocean, into the sunset, onto the horizon where I couldn’t see any further.

At the silence, I look back to Mac. He’s already looking at me, and with a small shake of his head, he quickly closes the distance between us. I’m still leaning into his kiss when he pulls away. After the shock dissipates, I realize my fingers are resting just almost to his jaw, like touching him will ruin the illusion.

“You don’t owe me anything,” he repeats, this time, at a whisper. “I couldn’t let you die. Not without… without—”

I pull his lips back to mine, and all I can hear is the ocean crashing on the beach. I lean into him, more than I had last time, more than I ever had before. He opens his lips against mine. It’s almost too much, so even when I break the kiss, I hate myself for it.

It’s fine, though, because Mac’s phone is in his hand, and he’s answering it. His hand traces down my cheek, my shoulder, to my fingertips where he hooks his hand in mine.

“Yeah. Yeah, Matty, I’ll be there ASAP.”

When he ends the call, he looks at his phone like it’s the worst thing to happen to him.

“I have to—”

“It’s fine, Mac,” I say, although we both know it’s not. “Where you goin’?”

“Sounds like South America. Argentina.”

“My specialty,” I say, “Too bad I’m grounded.”

All he can do is hold my hand. He doesn’t say anything. Not for a while.

“Can we talk about this? When I get back?”

“Please, because I’m gonna need a lot of figuring to sort this one out,” I say with a chuckle.

“I don’t know how long I’ll be. But I’ll at least text you.”

Out of anyone who knows Mac, I get it the most. As long as I get some sort of ‘I’m still alive’ text, I’ll be happy.

“Get home safe, okay?”

He draws me close. I hug him the best I can with my arm still in my sling, but he surprises me when he kisses my forehead. As he jogs away, I touch the charm at my neck. I shut it tight into my palm until it hurts.


	8. Xenia: The Hospitable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While AJ heals between the team’s missions, she starts to realize that she and Mac were hurtling towards this conclusion. But while her anger had started to subside, something else set a fuse that would start a domino effect of events leading to her fall.

_Marina del Rey, LA  
_ **April**

A week passes, although I understand why. I’ve gotten my “I’m alive” texts from Mac, but it’s been too many times since I’ve actually seen him. Now that I’ve seen him and talked to him, now that I’ve kissed him, it makes things ten times, a thousand times worse.

Still, I have to suck it up. I check my phone again. It’s been four days since he contact me.

I’m starting to worry. This is a weakness. I shouldn’t feel this way. At any rate, I finish up making my popcorn and readjust my sling. It’s heavy and sore on my neck. Everything's still heavy and sore, but it’s improving. I think. I’m improving. I check my phone. Nothing.

Until there’s a buzz at my intercom.

_“Yo! Thea!”_

“Dammit, Jack, I just sat down,” I say, buzzing him into the building. I practically hear his feet on the staircase as I unlock my door and wander back to my living room. I check my phone. If they made it back, Mac hasn’t texted me yet. Regardless, at least Jack is safe, even though now he’s in a sling…?

“If you’re sticking around, beer’s in the fridge. And Jack, what the hell did you do?”

“No biggie. Argentina. You got any snacks?”

“Fridge is fair game,” I say. But someone else slips inside and shuts my apartment door. Mac. I try not to visibly perk up, but he definitely breaks into a wide smile.

“Hey… hey, Mac,” I finally say, clearing my throat. “Jack. Popcorn’s in the cabinet if you want some.”

I slip into the fridge, trying to hide the blush threatening to rise in my cheeks, and pull out a pair of Sam Adams.

“Rough mission?” I ask, but both of them freeze. Jack turns his head towards the living room and I hear the TV:

_“I’m Joe Takagi, Mr. McClane. I have… something to do with this company.”_

_"So I’ve heard.”_

Jack’s face lights up as he looks to Mac. “Oh. This is divine intervention. We deserve this.”

He wings past the two of us and presumably takes up residence on my couch for about an hour and a half. I grab the beer Jack had left on the counter during his freak out and nearly brush past Mac, but I stop short.

“Glad you made it home.”

“Sorry I didn’t text. It’s been rough.”

“We can talk about it, or we can watch _Die Hard_.”

I start to move, but he stops me; he barely touches my chin and guides me to his lips. I can’t help wanting more, but he breaks, then takes a look at me.

“You got your stitches out,” he says, like nothing had happened at all. Like the emotionally stunted spies we are, Mac slips into the living room. Jack had surprisingly taken my recliner, so I flop back on my side of the couch and Mac on his.

“No shoes on the furniture,” I say to both, and Jack unceremoniously kicks his off. Mac takes off his boots, grabs my popcorn bowl out of his way, and promptly makes himself comfortable with my coffee table.

For once in my life, this feels right, even as I force the feelings back down in my chest.

* * *

The first time we pause the movie is after their dramatic reenactment of the horrible dispatch woman. Hearing them say it in unison, with perfect inflection, is enough to make me pause it and laugh until my broken ribs hurt.

“No fucking shit, lady! Do I sound like I’m ordering a pizza?”

Tears run down my face before I realize they’re ordering a pizza.

“No delivery. You should know that,” I say, snapping at Jack as he plays with his phone to order online. Mac just raises his eyebrow at me.

“So I’ll go pick it up, no big deal, chill out, Girl Scout,” he says, calming me with a hand. “Keep it paused. I miss even a second, y’all are goin’ down. You hear me?”

“You’re leaving now?” I say, my heart jumping a little and hoping Mac doesn’t make any sort of indication of going with him.

“Yeah, by the time I get there, it’ll be done,” Jack says, spinning his keys in his hand. “Too bad I can’t borrow your Bonnie.”

“Maybe next time,” I say, as he slips out the door. I nearly get whiplash, but Mac recovers quicker.

"What's this bullshit about the 'no delivery' rule?"

"Trying to get some alone time," I confess. His smile is enough to make it worth it.

“Sorry I went dark,” he says, turning towards me.

“You okay? What happened?”

“Argentina. Then, I come home, and I get a call about an old friend. Oh, uh, Frankie.”

“From MIT?” I ask, inching closer to him so I didn’t feel like I was at the other side of the room.

“Well, long story short, I ended up in Boston. Didn’t get to do much, though. Turns out she faked her own death because someone was trying to kill her.”

“Wow. Okay…”

“What have you been up to?”

“Sleeping. Eating. Watching a bunch of old movies. Going stir crazy. Wanna go shoot something?”

He smirks. I melt a little. When did I become this person?

“We desperately need to talk about what keeps happening,” I say.

“Talk about what, exactly?” He says, and I swear he’s just doing it to get a rise out of me. It’s working.

“Oh, I don’t know, what happened at your birthday party? What happened on Venice Beach? What happened when you walked in about a half hour ago?”

He nods, seemingly taking in all the information, his brow furrowed. I’m about to call bullshit when he speaks up.

“You mean this?”

He leans forward and kisses me again. I sigh, frustrated in all definitions of the word.

“Mac, you’re not helping.”

“I like to think I am,” he says, kissing me again. “Did you know kissing can help alleviate stress?”

“Right now, you’re just causing it,” I mutter. But he’s right, as he slips his hand behind my neck and draws me closer. I don’t know which part of me is fighting this, past me or present me. At least part of me knew this was what I always wanted, ever since we met in the People’s Republic.

“Do me a favor,” I ask, I whisper, as he pulls away from me again. “Go downstairs and make sure Jack didn’t leave something in the door so he could get back in.”

He jumps up, not even bothering to slip his boots back on, like a thirteen-year-old boy. It’s refreshing. He slips back into the room, locking the door behind him.

“He’ll have to buzz up,” he says, leaning into me and kissing me once more. We didn’t get very far in the conversation I wanted to have, but I figure we have time. We have plenty of time.

“This is not what I intended,” I explain, kissing him once, again. He stops me again. Every time I speak, he cuts me off.

“I mean, I can stop,” he says, with no intention of stopping.

By the time the buzzer goes off, with Jack’s unhappy deadpan telling us to let him inside, I have to casually leave him like a high schooler in a dark basement. At least we had a warning.

* * *

We’re deep into the pizza as McClane travels through the air ducts. Mac turns to Jack—

“’Come out to the coast, we’ll get together, have a few laughs!’”

I can’t stop laughing until it hurts and I’m coughing. “Holy shit, Mac. That was spot on.”

Jack nods vigorously. “Our boy here does a great McClane."

Mac scoffs. "I’m basically John McClane.”

“You wish, I say. “I don’t care how wicked cool you think you are, if there’s anyone like John McClane, it’s me.”

“You? C’mon,” Jack says. “Bahamas. Who ran three miles in their bare feet? Me!”

“Because you were too slow to put on your boots!” I snap. “That was your own stupidity, not McClane-ness! I sniped three terrorists from the top of Fort Charlotte on that same mission with two bullets!”

Jack just scoffs. “Easy. I’ve done that before, right, Mac?”

He shakes his head, not looking away from the TV. “I really don’t want to get into this argument.”

Jack keeps pushing. “C’mon, you might be subjective, but at least you’re equally subjective, right?”

I bite my lip back. I’m tempted to refute that statement, but I’m not ready to make any sort of concrete commitment. Instead I leave Mac to flounder on his own.

“Uh, yeah. Sure, Jack. Totally subjective.”

“Hey, Jack,” I interrupt, knowing my timing has to be good. “What did I tell you that night we got back to Mexico from the islands and we got caught in that parade?” I pause for dramatic effect and to line up my comment between gunfire on the TV—“’welcome to the party, pal!’”

“AJ wins,” Mac says, shrugging like it’s easy. I blow a kiss to Jack. He glares at me, then Mac, then turns back to the television.

* * *

"Just a fly in the ointment, Hans. The monkey in the wrench. The pain in the ass.”

I’d typically be worried about three spies quoting a movie in complete unison, but it’s _Die Hard_, and it’s in a category of its own.

“Someday, mark my words, we’ll be in a high rise, and there’s gonna be terrorists, and we’re gonna have to fight our way out,” Jack mutters almost under his breath.

“Are you praying that happens?” Mac asks, gesturing with his beer. “You know we’re the most likely of people to actually go through this plot.”

_“Mr. Mystery Guest, are you still there?” _

_“Yeah, I’m still here. Unless you wanna open the front door for me.”_

“No, I’m afraid not,” I say in my best Alan Rickman. It makes Jack snort some of his beer. Mac turns to me, eyebrow raised, as I finish the line. “But, you have me at a loss. You know my name, but who are you? Just another American who saw too many movies as a child? Another orphan of a bankrupt culture who thinks he’s John Wayne, Rambo, Marshal Dillon?”

“I was always kinda partial to Roy Rogers, actually,” Mac says. He’s not carrying the modified HK94, and he’s not wearing a dirty, bloody tank top, but I’ll take it. “I really like those sequined shirts.”

“Do you really think you have a chance against us, Mr. Cowboy?”

Dramatic pause.

“Yippee-ki-yay, motherfucker!”

* * *

Jack checks his ringing phone when I start cleaning up the destruction left behind by our _Die Hard_ freak out. My heart already starts to fall when I realize it’s got to be Matty, but Mac hangs with me as I struggle to load the dishwasher.

“Can you… let me help you, okay?”

I huff backwards, blowing my hair out of my face, and let him finish the work.

“We’re gonna have to leave again,” Mac says, glancing from Jack’s one-sided conversation back to me.

“I know. I know, and I get it, but it doesn’t stop me from feeling uneasy.”

He smiles, looking down to the floor. I know he doesn’t want to answer, but we’ve gotten to a point where we’re going to have to.

“It really was inevitable, wasn’t it?” I ask under my breath. “Ever since I figured out you were still alive. We’ve just been… racing towards this.”

“This is your fault,” he says smugly, crossing his arms and leaning against the counter top.

“How is this my fault?!”

“That uniform on the day we met. Irresistible.”

“The skirt was too long. I looked like the matron of a military school in 1934.”

Mac just nods and smiles, like he’s trying to hold back his laugh, as Jack makes his way back into the room.

“Saddle up, McClane, time to ride,” Jack says.

“Was that Matty?” I ask, and he nods.

“Thanks for comin’ out.”

“I could smell the _Die Hard._” Jack heads for the door, leaving Mac and I still without a goodbye. “You comin’, Mac?”

“Oh. Yeah,” he says, looking at me apologetically as he steps towards the door. I guess we used up all our private time before. “We’ll… catch up with you later, yeah?”

“Happy trails, guys. Please be safe.”

As Jack shuts the door, I know he’s suspicious. That’s okay. Let him be.

* * *

I finally ditch my sling all together. I start running again, at least a little, and get back into the ring, but I’m still not a hundred percent. I’m barely to forty. It’s been about a month. A month of trying, of PT, of getting rid of the drugs out of my system.

When Jill texted me that I should come to the baseball diamond in Culver City, I hopped onto my bike and immediately went. I don’t know what’s going on, but like hell am I going to sit around when someone’s telling me to visit a baseball diamond.

When I get there, I see a bunch of red baseball jerseys with an emblazoned phoenix on them. I suddenly make the connection as I stroll up and Jill greets me with a hug. I gladly take it.

“You made it!”

“Baseball is kind of my thing,” I say, peering out into the dirt. “I didn’t realize you still had a league going. It’s been a while since I was stateside during baseball season.”

“Yeah, and honestly, I think we’re going to get smoked,” she says, cringing. “Too bad you’re still benched.”

“You know I used to play, right?” I can smell it. It’s almost intoxicating.

“No! When you get healed up, talk to Jack. I’m sure he’ll put you on the team.”

“He’s probably just waiting for the right time,” I say. I catch Mac’s eye. He’s got his own jersey: 41. Probably a pitcher, if they keep up with the modern numbering conventions. But he smiles, tossing a baseball into his mitt. I draw a sharp breath, suddenly distracted, until he starts towards the two of us.

“I’ll let you two talk,” Jill says with a smile, rejoining the rest of the team.

He saunters up, and I don’t know if I can handle it.

“I didn’t know you knew about the tournament,” he says. I have to focus, because seeing him like this is fulfilling like, twelve of my fantasies.

“Jill invited me, actually.”

“Oh, so you’re friends now?”

“She’s been checking on me when you guys can’t,” I shrug. “I would say so. She’s sweet. How’s your game?”

“It’s awful,” he chuckles. “We’re gonna get annihilated.”

“Put me in coach,” I say. “I could fix that for you.”

“We can’t do personnel changes now,” he says, “But I’m sure if you talk to Jack…”

“That’s what Jill said. I would love to, once I get sorted out.”

“How are you feeling?” He drops his voice low.

“I’m doing better. A lot better. Breathing’s still hard sometimes, but I think I’m through the worst of it, thanks to you and Jack.”

He smiles widely. “We do our best.”

“What position do you play? Pitcher?”

Mac tilts his head as he steps backwards, back to the rest of the team. “How’d you know?”

“Lucky guess.”

“Hey, Blondie! Stop flirting and get your ass over here!” Matty yells.

“Well, good luck,” I say, meandering towards the bleachers. My heart flutters when he winks.

* * *

They were both right. It was complete annihilation. It’s embarrassing. And it’s killing me that I’m not out there, too.

Jack tries to give some sort of warped motivational speech in the seventh inning that I can hear from here, but it’s not working. It’s not even worth it. I don’t know why the NSA Listening Post #27 Panthers aren’t allowing them to just… stop. It’s kind of bad form.

I only really stand up and pay attention when Matty yells to the umpire and suddenly they’re all packing up. I sidle up to the dugout, but they’re hurrying to leave.

“Meet back at Phoenix in an hour. Be prepared for an op,” Matty orders. Jill breezes by me with a wide grin, like she’s being held hostage or something. Mac almost brushes by too, but he grasps my hand tightly, hidden between the two of us.

“Something’s goin’ down. We’ll talk later.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

“You know Matty’s not going to ask you to come in. Not just yet.”

“Be careful.”

“Always am.”

“That’s a lie, and you know it,” I whisper. In response, he kisses my forehead, gently, quickly, and ghosts. As I attempt to recover, I see Riley fumbling with her own stuff.

“You need a ride?”

“I just need to get back to my apartment and get my rig,” she says. “But Jack’s takin’ Boze and Mac, and they’re on the other side of town.”

“Wanna ride with me?”

Her face lights up. “On your Bonnie?”

“Hell yeah. We’ll get you to where you need to be.”

“I thought you’d never ask.”


	9. Atrutônê: The Tireless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the aftermath of the attack on the Phoenix Foundation and the team, AJ does the only thing she knows how: sacrifice her own safety for her friends, no matter how seemingly small. But that care comes in a myriad of ways.

_[Classified]  
_ **April**

Another week goes by, and I don’t hear from either of them. It’s frustrating, but I get it. At least it gave me a little time to figure out my life again.

I know when I get to Phoenix, when I see fire and hear sirens, something has gone horribly, horribly wrong. Focus. I feel my heart jump, like I’m about ready to slide into fight or flight, and my thoughts slip into overdrive.

I immediately head to the war room. Matty’s barking orders to a bunch of people I don’t know inside. She’s soaked. She doesn’t see me yet, so I head up the stairs to the second floor. Her office is open. Everything is open. I don’t understand, but I don’t have time to ask right now.

I find her go bag and snatch the entire thing before heading back downstairs. She’s just wrapping up her speech when I slip back in.

“Harper. Were you here the whole time?”

“I just got here. Grabbed your go bag. Thought you would like a change of clothes.”

The harsh, authoritative Matty fades into a smile. “This. This is why you’re invaluable to me.” She frosts the glass and shuts the door before starting to change. I step past her and peer at the images and maps on the massive screen.

“Someone got in? The Organization?”

“The threat is neutralized, but we’re going to have to rebuild our systems and half our building. Mac blew up some floors.”

I chuckle, I smile. I would expect nothing less. I grab her tablet from the nearest chair and start typing on it so it comes up on the screen.

“Everyone okay?”

“Scrapes, scratches, one casualty,” she says calmly.

“Who?”

“Wilt Bozer,” she says. My heart jumps to my throat. “Our perp stabbed him. He’s in critical but stable condition when he left.”

“How’re Mac? Riley? Jack?”

“They’re fine,” she says. “I want them on clean up, but I bet they’ve already bailed to go to the hospital to check on Bozer.”

“Which hospital?” I can hear my blood pumping in my ears. I drop the tablet to the chair.

She puts on her auxiliary leather jacket. “Harper, they don’t need you, too.”

“Which hospital?” I repeat.

“Can no one follow my instructions?” She sighs. “St. Angelina.”

I’m running out the door before she can say another word.

* * *

I weave through traffic going 90 and make it to St. Angelina in seven minutes. When I hurtle in through the Emergency department doors, it seems I’ve even beat the boys here. I head to the front desk and accost the head nurse.

“Wilt Bozer? He just came in, stab wound, critical but stable?”

She looks like I’ve given her whiplash, but she types on the computer. “Headed to surgery. Are you family?”

“He’s my friend. I work with him,” I start, but she answers an annoyingly ringing phone. I wait, I try to listen, but the only thing I can ascertain is “blood bank” and “nearly out of A negative”.

I’m speaking before I can think. I never speak before I think. Everything’s calculated, well thought out—

“I’m A negative. I can donate.”

The nurse looks at me offhandedly, then struggles to find some paperwork. I don’t know how orthodox it is, but she doesn’t seem to care, as long as I pass the tests.

I actually use my own identification this time. I lie about a lot—nothing that would end up hurting Bozer, that’s for sure—it doesn’t take long before I’m donating. I committed to double. Like hell would Bozer die because he doesn’t have enough blood. I’m not letting that happen.

About three quarters of the way through, I hear more angry speaking from the hallway. It sounds a lot like Jack.

“What the hell do you mean, you don’t have an update?”

“It means we don’t have an update. Look, we’re waiting on blood from our donor, and then I’ll get you an update. Okay?”

“Donor? What donor?”

Don’t say it. Don’t tell him. He shouldn’t know.

“An… Athena J. Harper.”

Fuck me sideways. He’s gonna kill me.

“What? What the hell…” He groans. It doesn’t matter. A nurse comes back to relieve me of my blood and whisk it off for the usual tests and then to Bozer. Once I’m told I can go back and wait, I peer around the hospital room quickly and steal some of the traditional supplies, toss them in my bag.

Hey, it’s easier to get hospital grade stuff in a hospital. I’m not sorry.

I breathe deeply, but my eyes are a bit hazy when I slip out into the hallway with my traditional post-donation snacks.

When Jack sees me, I can tell he’s irate. I can see the sweat marks from a bulletproof vest. Mac looks dirty, partially wet, covered in something from the explosion. There’s streaks of blood on both of them.

“The hell you thinkin’, Thea?!”

I’m not thinking anything, apparently, as I sink into one of the waiting room chairs. I’m so dizzy. I should have known this would happen. I knew this would happen, to be honest. I’m surprised it hasn’t happened yet.

“I was thinking they didn’t have enough blood for Bozer, and I was a match,” I say, holding my head a little and trying to drink water. “I gave double and I regret nothing.”

Mac groans. “You can’t give double. You’re not tall enough and you don’t weigh enough.”

“Well, I just did.”

“How—”

“So I lied on my form, okay?!”

Jack looks over his shoulder, then basically picks me up and moves me to a different, more hidden part of the waiting room. The nurses couldn’t see us here. I lean my head back on the wall.

I wake up to Jack lightly slapping my face, trying to not make a scene. Mac kneels at my feet, his hand on my knee.

“AJ. Wake up.”

“I’m here, I’m here. I’m good. I’m fine,” I mutter, swallowing hard. I’m awake. I can do this. I focus my eyes. “Hey, Mac.”

He smiles. He’s got a cut down the side of his face. Jack has some bruises. But everyone is okay.

“You hear anything about Bozer yet?”

Jack just looks at the ceiling, like he can’t answer the question and if he doesn’t look away, he’s going to yell at me.

“Why don’t I take you home?” Mac says, standing up. “We can’t do anything here, and you’ll just keep trying to give your blood until you’re dry.”

“That’s a good idea,” Jack says. “Take my car. I’ll get her bike home.”

“You just want to steal my Bonnie,” I say, handing my keys over to Jack anyway. I know he’s right. I don’t know if I’m going to pass out again. It’s likely, the way I’m feeling.

“Keep me posted on anything, okay?” Mac says, taking my backpack then helping me to my feet.

“You know it, brother. Be careful with Rambo over here.”

“We’re not making that a thing,” I say over my shoulder. Mac rests a hand on my waist, guiding me out through the automatic doors.

“What, Rambo?”

“Call me Rambo again, and I’ll shoot you—”

By that point, Mac and I have cleared the doors and found ourselves alone. He leads me to a classic car—Jack’s ‘67 Pontiac GTO—and slide into the front seat.

We’re headed back to Marina del Rey. It takes forever. We’ve only made it to Culver City, and it’s been half an hour.

“How do you all deal with moving so slowly?” I say, leaning my head back onto the seat rest.

“Why’d you donate your blood to Bozer, when you knew what would happen?”

I’m taken aback by his immediately deep question. I’m too tired and loopy for that answer right now, but I do anyway.

“It’s Bozer. I may not know him well, but… well, it was instinct.”

“You don’t go by instinct.”

“I didn’t think it through. I… I acted on impulse.”

“You?” He acts fake shocked as we get onto 90. “Impulsive?”

“I was taking a page out of your book and improvising,” I confess, watching out the window. “I like Bozer. I like him a lot. He still has a bit of that innocence. That innocence we’ve inevitably lost.”

He gets quiet. I do too as he veers onto Lincoln Boulevard. I look to him, and I start to realize the number of wounds he had: nothing serious, but all enough to cause the look of discomfort on his face.

“Mac, are you okay?”

He glances to me, like he wasn’t sure how to answer that question. He swallows hard, not looking away from the palm tree framed road. He weaves down Jefferson and towards my apartment building, then parks in my guest spot before helping me out of the car. I still feel shaky, but we make it inside, then upstairs to my apartment, without incident. I feel like I’m holding him up as much as he is me.

“It was Murdoc. Again.”

“Murdoc?”

He’s shocked. “You don’t know about Murdoc? He’s this assassin that has, well, a personal vendetta against me now.”

“I hate the sound of that.”

“Trust me, I do too. He’s been messing with me the last month. We’ve caught him, threw him in jail, then tried to stop one of his hits. He had to teach me to be him. There was a lot of black and uncomfortable voice inflections and creative knots,” he chuckles. We get inside, finally, and I feel like I can breathe again.

“There are a lot of things in that description that could be fun,” I say, biting back my lip as I say it.

“I’m going to forget you even suggested that,” he deadpans.

“Why? All black and creative knots?”

“The association with Murdoc,” he says. “This time, he essentially infiltrated Phoenix, and what you’re seeing is the aftermath.”

“Damn. Kind of glad I missed it.”

“Could’ve used you,” he says, unbuttoning his sleeves. He cringes a little, and I see why.

“What happened?”

“Ah, probably the room I exploded in the basement,” he says. “I released a coolant that reacted with the… I burned down the artifact cold storage room. Or It was the knife fight. Or the bomb I rigged to get through the floor on B8.”

I get an ice pack out of my freezer and start first on his temple. He cringes. “And got the shit beat out of you in the process?”

“It was a rough couple hours,” He admits.

“C’mon.” I drag him into my bathroom and make him sit down on the toilet as I look him over. He was getting a nasty bruise on his head under the ice pack, but there was nothing for me to do there. I finish unbuttoning his shirt sleeves and I see blood on one.

“Did you bring a Swiss Army tool to a knife fight again?” I ask.

"It's still technically a knife," he harrumphs. "But no. I used a marker and a pipe."

Rolling my eyes, I go to my bag, take it to the bathroom, and dump out some of the things I took from the hospital onto the floor.

“Where did you get those,” he deadpans, then draws a quick breath. “You know what? I don’t want to know. Don’t tell me.”

“Swiped ‘em from the hospital,” I say, finding some antibiotic ointment, bandages, and gauze. Although my head still hurts and I probably should be drinking more water, I need to take care of him first.

“You don’t have to do this,” he mutters, leaning against the sink. After washing my hands, I take a better look at the knife wound: it’s not horribly deep, but I should wrap it. I bring him closer to me, pulling on his arm a little, and he cringes, favoring his right shoulder.

I keep his arm under the running water and take the ice pack from him, setting it down on his shoulder. “Where the hell was Jack during all of this? Isn’t he supposed to be dealing with this so you can think?”

“He had his own problems,” Mac groans as I finish cleaning the knife cut.

"Did you get hit by a truck—"

"Five or six guys, a couple of CO 2 canisters. I think."

In the meantime, I turn over his hand. His knuckles, already bruising, suffer from a number of glass shards.

“The hell was this?” I say, gesturing towards his hand. He leans back, still groaning but not answering. I grab a tweezers and start pulling out the shards until I waver. I grasp the side of the sink.

“AJ, if you need to sit down—”

“I’m fine. I’m fine,” I mutter.

I make the mistake of looking up to the mirror over the sink. It’s not the prettiest sight: my hair has flown out of its French braid, and I look exceptionally paler than usual. I look tired. I need to lay down, but like hell am I going to stop now.

“I appreciate what you did for Boze,” he says, letting me clean the cuts on his knuckles. I don’t think they’re broken, but he did use them for a little more than I would usually suggest. Once I get those cleaned, he looks like he’s fading a little. He looks exhausted.

“Maybe we should finish this in the living room,” I say, widening my eyes to wake myself up. I guide him, whether I’m doing a good job or not, until he’s sitting down on the couch. Apparently, he’s still in pain, because he holds his arm around himself until I get him down. He leans back and actually shuts his eyes.

“When was the last time you slept?” I say, gently placing the bandage over the knife wound. I loosely wind some bandages around his arm. It should be fine after a day or two. When I go to get him colder ice packs and return to sit on the coffee table in front of him, I see he’s fallen asleep. Although I don’t want to wake him, I have to check his shoulder and the cut on his face.

“Mac?” I say quietly. He doesn’t stir. “Mac, wake up.”

He draws a quick breath and he’s awake again.

“Sorry. God, sorry,” he says. He notices the bandages on his arm, and I notice blood on his hand. Blood I thought I cleaned off.

“Jesus, Mac, what the hell—” I search for the source, and I see a slight gash in his blue shirt. There’s blood staining it. Nothing exponentially bad, but bad enough to need attention. I use the towel I grabbed to clean off his hand, then get a better look at it. “Did you grazed by a bullet or something?”

“May have been the knife fight. May have been a ricochet,” he explains. “Not the first time.”

“I’ll get to it. You got lucky. I have to check your shoulder, make sure it’s not dislocated,” I say, trying to keep it business. He just smiles. He can’t seem to stop.

“What?”

“I’m glad we gave up on the whole being mad situation,” he says tiredly.

I roll my eyes.

“I’m serious, AJ. All those letters are nothing compared to having you here with me.”

“You’re exhausted, Mac,” I say. “And I really do need to check your shoulder.” I unbutton his top button and pull aside his collar. “You’re bruised, but I don’t see any other damage,” I explain. I grab one of his ice packs and hold it to his shoulder again, but he just cringes and adjusts it so it can sit without me holding on.

I unbutton his shirt further, trying to remain all business. We can talk after I know he’s not going to be bleeding on my couch. I find the graze, and it’s superficial. I don’t warn him as I clean it, and he cringes. I instinctively hold him still, my palm on his opposite hip, until I’m done.

“Sorry,” I whisper, taping a bandage on. He won’t need stitches, but he’s better off this way. I readjust his shirt and do up a couple of the buttons. “There. Let me see the cut on your face.”

I start towards him again, but he draws my hand away. With a slow, deliberate movement, he pulls me to my feet and then onto his lap.

“Mac. You’re being unreasonable,” I say flatly. He grasps my hand until I raise my eyebrow at him. He got me on his lap. That should be sufficient enough right now.

I take his chin, moving his head towards me. He stops worrying, it seems, for a moment, as I force him to look at me, I clean the cut on his face. I lean back to grab a butterfly bandage and he guides me back, his hands on my hips, his hand on my face, his lips on my lips—

“Dammit, Angus,” I whisper, his lips still nearly touching mine. I don’t want to fight it; I can’t fight it. “I don’t know; you might have brain damage.”

I try to place the butterfly bandage on the cut on his cheek, but it’s hard to focus when he starts kissing my neck. I draw a quick breath. “I’m at a 15 on the Glasgow Coma Scale,” he says.

“I’d at least give you a 14,” I say, starting to get up. But he holds his possibly pained hands against my hips, gently asking me to stay.

“How am I at a 14?”

“Confused and disoriented,” I say, kissing him again. He grins, and I lean my forehead against his. “Last month I hated you.”

“You never actually hated me.”

“Maybe you’re right, but I wasn’t willing to find out. I thought I gave you enough chances.”

He slips his hand across my cheek, steadying me. We’re both still wavering. A lot went down. Too much.

“I missed you so much,” I find myself saying, my throat closing up a little as I choke it all back. “I felt like I had nobody.”

“Not anymore,” he says.

I have to pause. I can't move, not right now, but I have to. I have to. We can't do this now.

With that, I extricate myself from his lap and clean up my medical supplies. I head back to the living room and flop down on the couch next to him. He kicks off his dirty boots and puts his feet up on my coffee table, and I lean on his good shoulder. He pulls me closer. I let him.

“We should head back to the hospital,” I say. “I want to go with you.”

“He’ll be fine,” Mac says, almost as a mantra. “He’ll be fine. Jack will keep me posted. Jack… he’ll let us know.”

“I really am sorry,” I say.

He knows I’m not apologizing for Bozer. “It wasn’t your fault. You had every right to be mad.”

“I wish I didn’t waste so much time on it, though,” I say. He doesn’t look at me. He looks anywhere but at me. “I looked for you. I looked for you the whole time I thought you were dead.”

This time, he looks at me, in shock, in concern, in something else I can’t quite identify. “What do you mean—”

“I looked for you. I tried to bypass Thornton, I went to Delta, I went through the government, but no one could help. I started searching on my own, and even when you joined DXS, they never told me. I just never… I never quite found you.”

I lean up, so I can look at him again, although he looks exhausted. I don’t want to know what I look like. It doesn’t matter. He pulls me into his lips, like a reward for finally finding him.


	10. Amaria: Bright Sky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the space between ops, the now mobile AJ has realized something—she might actually have friends. After a much needed leisurely afternoon, she realizes she might have something more in one of them...

_Marina del Rey, LA  
_ **Late April**

I see his face. The Russian operative drips drugs into my system. I can’t breathe. I see blue, I see shadows. My shoulder throbs. Nothing is right. My breaths are too short, not enough. I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe.

I try to move, I try to fight against his grasp, but it’s no use. Someone’s holding me down, holding me back. I thrash, I scream, I hear Mac—

“Hey, AJ, you’re fine. You’re okay. You’re safe. You’re safe.”

I blink away the nightmare, I blink away the pain, until Mac pushes my hair back from my face. He’s here. He’s still here?

Leaning back onto the edge of the couch, I try to collect myself. Mac pulls his phone from his pocket as it vibrates twice.

“Matty?” I ask, my voice rough.

“I… I need to go.”

I shut my eyes, my heart falling. I run my hands over my face to try to hide my disappointment, but he gets up, then helps me to my feet. It’s the middle of the night. He’s been here for hours.

“Let me… let me know when you get back, okay?”

He nods, first slowly, then with more conviction. “This sounds like it should be short.”

“Don’t say that. Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

He smirks a little and kisses me lightly. I don’t want to pull away, but I do, and he’s gone again.

* * *

I work my way through the hospital until I find Bozer’s room. He’s looking better than he had been; Riley looks like she’s been there for the last few days without moving. She’s dozing off when I get there and drop off the stash of illegal snacks I’ve smuggled in.

Bozer shifts his weight a little and gives me a smile.

“AJ, what’re you doin’ here?”

“Thought I’d bring you some real food.”

“Look at you,” he mutters, glancing to Riley and back. “How are you doing?”

“I think the question is, how are you doing?” I ask, sitting on the edge of his hospital bed.

“Feeling… better, I think. Could’ve been a lot worse.”

“Yeah, I’ve been there,” I say, running my fingers over the ridges of the hospital blankets. “I’ve been there more times than I should count.”

“How many times?”

I try to think. I lose count eventually, and Bozer just tsks.

“You’re too pretty for that.”

“Same to you, Bozer. Same to you.”

Riley stirs in her sleep, but doesn’t wake up.

“I heard you gave me some of your blood,” he says. He goes straight for the throat. I kind of actually appreciate that about him, suddenly.

“Oh, yeah. I did.”

“Why?”

“What do you mean, why? We have the same blood type. You’re Mac and Jack’s friend.”

“Well, I appreciate it. Does that make me any more badass?”

“What, with some of my blood in your system?” I shrug. “Maybe a fifth more.”

“Mac would say ‘that’s not how blood works’.” He smiles. He takes my hand. I let him. “I heard all about you, you know.”

The blood seems to drain from my face. Mac never said anything about this. I’m not sure how I’m supposed to feel.

“Oh? Like… like what?”

“About how close you guys got just sendin’ letters. Missin’ you. Wondering where you got off to. Then being shocked when you showed up alive.”

All I can do is look down at my own hand, clasped with his.

“He stayed at your side for three days before Matty made him go home.”

I let go and get up, hiding the tears sliding down my face from Bozer.

“You should rest. Let me know if you need anything.”

“Hey, AJ?” I turn back to him. “I’m not just Mac and Jack’s friend. I’m yours, too.”

As I head out to the gun range, away from Bozer and Phoenix, I realize I gave a little of my heart away to that boy in the hospital bed.

* * *

_[classified]_

**Two weeks later**

For a while, I thought Mac was ghosting me again, but I did get a phone call. He got a lead on his dad after years of estrangement and had to go. I understood completely; as long as he lets me know he's okay. And he's okay.

It's been half a month though. I'm getting too used to him being around.

The most I can do at this point is mill about Phoenix, regaining my bearings and checking on a few things that had fallen by the wayside. As I slip by the tactical room, though, I see a few figures inside. I knew Bozer had gotten out, but I didn't realize he was already back on the job. Wish my recovery was that quick. And there's a new blonde I don't know. But they’re all in there. That's all I see before Matty frosts the glass.

I lurk by the stairwell. I want to talk to Matty anyway, and I'm sure their discussion won't take long. I'm right, because they immediately start out, looking particularly stoic.

Bozer sees me first and lights up like the Fourth of July. "My girl! My sweet goddess, am I glad to see you!"

With his exclamation, the entire group turns to me. The pretty blonde eyes me. She looks dangerous, but I can't really square up against her with Bozer hugging me. Maybe that’s a good thing.

"Glad you're okay," I say, ignoring being tough and hugging him back. "I'll catch up with you later, okay?" Once he extricates himself from me, Riley gives me a fist bump, a hug, and then silently heads with Bozer towards what I expect is their next op.

"I said wheels up in twenty, people," Matty says, acknowledging me with her serious comment and a wink. I smirk at her. Always gotta keep the toughness, too, but she's got a heart. She steps away, probably to her office to make sure the plane she ordered was ready. Or to yell at another tech. I don’t know. I’ll catch up with her later.

Jack gives me a hug, too. The blonde is watching the entire time.

"Hey, be careful," I whisper.

"Always, Thea."

"Love you."

"Love you, too."

Mac approaches, but the blonde finally comes after him. "Samantha Cage, AJ Harper."

I shake her hand. We both make a scary intense form of eye contact. "Nice to meet you. What's your purpose here?"

"Classified," she says. "They're helping me with something." Australian, I think.

I nod once, finally letting go of her hand. "That's what we do here. If I can do anything from here, let me know, but I’m still grounded."

A bit of her harshness leaves her face, and she just nods.

"AJ is another one of our field agents,” Mac explains. “She’s currently down on medical leave.”

“Hopefully not for much longer,” I say.

“Cage, I'll meet you at the plane," Mac says, and she knows it's her time to leave. As soon as she leaves the conversation, I take a step closer to Mac, dropping my voice low.

"I was worried about you."

"I'm sorry," He says, looking like he wanted to hug me. "Barcelona, Kiev, Argentina, and then we got recalled by Matty to try to find Murdoc in Cuba."

"Where are you headed now?" I ask.

"Uh, it's classified."

I nod. I get it. If he can't talk about it, he can't talk about it. "If you need anything, let me know. I'll tell Matty. Please be careful. Please."

"You know I will."

I push some of his hair out of his eyes. "You cut your hair."

He perks up. "You like it?"

"It looks nice."

He smiles, he looks down at his dirty boots. "Listen—"

"Later. You have to go."

He doesn't even look for eavesdroppers when he touches my chin and pulls me in for a kiss. I watch him leave, and see that Cage is watching.

* * *

_Marina del Rey, LA_

**Four days later**

After physical therapy and a run, I make it back to my apartment. It’s unlocked. But as soon as the door creaks open, I hear a voice from my kitchen—

“Don’t shoot, Thea, it’s me.”

Jack leans against my countertop, his hand in a box of Cinnamon Toast Crunch.

“Dude, it’s 1 p.m.”

“Exactly. Cereal has no time constraints. Listen, hit the showers, get dressed, we’re goin’ out.”

I kick my door shut behind me and start unbraiding my hair. “Okay? Should I be worried? Should I prep for battle, or…?”

“If you think mini golf is prepping for battle, then yes. Do your worst.”

I roll my eyes and jump in the shower, leaving the bathroom door open.

“What made you want to go mini golfing today?”

“Day off.”

"A real day off, or are you gonna get called in?"

"To be determined, stop complainin' and get ready!"

"I met that Agent Cage the other day," I comment. "Seems like a nice girl. What's her speciality?"

"Interrogation."

"Oh, I like her already."

"Barkin' up the wrong tree, there, Thea. She doesn't ‘fraternize with her co-workers’."

I giggle. Gotta love Walk. He knows me too well. "I'm not interested anyway. You hear from Mac?"

"He's home too," he says. "Got home yesterday. Why?"

"I haven't heard from him," I comment.

“Yeah, so y’all are talkin’ now, I see,” he says, his voice immediately changing.

“Do you use that voice when you’re interrogating all the girls?”

“I ain’t—”

“Yes, you are. But yeah, we’re talking.”

“Just… talking?”

“You’re fishing.”

“He stayed over after Murdoc escaped.”

“I’m sure he’s told you all about it,” I say, wrapping myself in a towel and heading out towards my stairs. "Nothing happened. I fixed him up and we fell asleep, to be totally honest."

“You’re right,” he says, poking around in my empty fridge. “But I’m not sure what your endgame is.”

“Me neither, Walk. Me neither.”

“He doesn’t seem to have any answers either, if that makes you feel any better.”

I get dressed quickly then slide down my banister.

“It kind of does, actually. Thanks.”

He tosses his car keys up into the air. “We’re takin’ the Vista.”

I smile. He knows how much I love the ocean.

* * *

After about forty-five minutes of just ocean breeze and bright sky, then an 18-hole mini golf course, I get the verbal lashing of a lifetime. It just ends in me laughing until I have to sit down.

“You are such a sore loser!” I call out over him. “You knew what would happen! You know I’m exceptionally better than you at mini golf. It’s not my fault your game is wicked bad.”

He just rolls his eyes and grumbles. “I need to do something where I can smoke you.”

“Good luck finding something. I’m unsmokeable.”

“What about laser tag?”

I immediately turn to his voice. Riley and Mac stroll up. Stop it, AJ, don’t let the blood rush to your face. It’s childish.

Riley gives me a hug, and I barely make eye contact with Mac, but it takes everything in me not to stop grinning. I give him a quick hug, not knowing how much Riley knows, but he doesn’t seem to mind.

“Good to see you’ve made it back in one piece,” I say, turning in my club before Jack can use it as… well, a club.

Mac harrumphs. “Yeah, blame Jack and his S.O.S. text. You better hope Matty doesn't call us out.” I'm personally offended by his teal t-shirt. I'm distracted by his arms for a minute.

“Alright, teams, laser tag, right now. I need to eliminate her from the face of the earth,” Jack says, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“Jesus. Why do you gotta be so competitive? Can’t we enjoy one—”

“Nope.”

“This is why we can’t have nice things,” I sigh. “Bang a u-ie, kids. This is gonna be a rough one.”

Riley and Mac share a quick glance and we turn around to head back into the main building.

“If we’re doin’ teams, how should we break off?” I ask.

“Dream team!” Jack says, slapping Mac’s hand and dragging him over to his side. Riley and I turn to each other, and her face goes from mildly concerned to a sly grin. I get over the distress of not having Mac on my team quickly.

“Yeah, we can pull this off,” Riley says, smirking at me.

“Ri, what’s your Hogwarts House?”

“Ravenclaw?”

I fist bump her.

“What difference does that make?” Jack scoffs.

“What, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff against Gryffindor and Slytherin?” I say, eyeing Jack and Mac.

“Wait, no,” Mac immediately says. “I’m not a Slytherin. Not by a long shot—”

“Resourceful, cunning, determined, clever, ambitious, and loyal to his friends? Wanna give that to me again, Slytherin?”

He looks to Jack in panic, like his entire decision making paradigm had shifted.

“Jack is a Gryffindor, naturally, Riley is a Ravenclaw, well, with maybe a streak of Slytherin, and I’m a stone cold Hufflepuff.”

“No one has ever used ‘stone cold’ and ‘Hufflepuff’ in a sentence,” Mac begins, like he’s about to give a lecture.

“Dedicated, hardworking, fair, patient, kind, and tolerant. But not today. Y’all are going down.”

“Ain’t nothin’ kind about you,” I hear Jack mutter.

“You’ll be the first to die,” I whisper, linking my arm with Riley’s.

* * *

There are a total of eight teams in the small arena. We’re given what they call a ‘safety briefing’ before we head in; we are definitely the oldest people signing up for these shenanigans. Instead of listening, I case the arena: it’s done up like a warehouse, with fake crates stacked as barricades and places to hide. I spy one near the back left corner that’s taller than the rest of them. I wonder if it’ll hold my weight. I almost instinctively cock my gun, and the instructor eyes me cautiously.

“What are you thinkin’?” Riley whispers to me.

“I’m thinkin’ I’m getting up on that crate wall as soon as possible. Go to the opposite corner in case I get picked off. Get two walls behind you.”

“What if I get, you know, backed into a corner?”

“It’s always a possibility, but you’ve also got someone watching your back. Plus, you can’t get flanked that way.”

“I can do that.”

“Do you have your phone?”

She gives me a sly smile. “Of course I do. What do you expect from me?”

“I really, really love you, Riles. Do what you do best.”

She gives me a wink. The time clock starts, and I haul ass, weaving through the crates and making a fake trail for someone to follow. Hopefully, I give Riles the ability to disappear, too. Before long, I’ve lost my visual on everyone, so I use that opportunity to deadlift myself onto the top of the crate pile and lay as flat as I can. They can’t see my glowing chest harness, and I can see all of them.

In fact, I see Mac first, in the other side of the arena, clutching his laser gun—probably the only type of gun he’s really happy holding—like he’s James Bond or something. One of the kids, probably around twelve, goes after him, but he somersaults out of the way and Jack just mercs the poor kid. Mac lets out a loud laugh. It hurts my heart.

I think about taking Jack out right now, but I don’t have it in me. Mac is a non-starter. I’m not going for him, not unless he goes for me.

I snipe the kid’s teammate from my perch. Not as good as my rifle, but it’ll do in a pinch. These teams are going down like flies, and I’m watching from the heavens, like I’ve always been taught to do. Overwatch.

I look for Ri. She doesn’t see the kid stalking her from behind, so I eliminate him from the arena. He huffs off. She doesn’t know where I am, but she gives me a silent, short head nod.

It takes about three minutes for all but us to be left on the field, and I have no idea where Jack is. He’s not allowed physical contact, I know that much, so he hasn’t kidnapped Riley. I would know about it by now. He would have sent the ransom note.

I haven’t seen much of Mac, either. I would prefer to see him. I haven’t in so long, I was starting to worry. But it’s fine. We’re fine.

I figure it’s time to bail out, so I slide off my perch and stalk around the corner. I see movement and drop low.

Mac’s rigged up some sort of device to look around corners. It looks like he’s just connected his and Jack’s phone to a stick—he probably robbed it off of one of the fake crates—and had them video chat each other so he can see. I’m not surprised to say the least, but I do my best to stay concealed. I slide back into the corner, wedging myself between the built-in shield and the wall. Not sure I’m supposed to be able to get back here, but I did anyway; the open space makes a cave-like hidey hole.

I can see the board from here. Two teams left. They probably shouldn’t have let the ex-Delta, ex-CIA, ex-Army, ex-con spies in to a kids’ laser tag field.

But Mac’s walking away, away from me and probably into some sort of trap rigged up by Ri.

“Hey, Mac!”

He instinctively drops low, searching for the source, a wide smile on his face. I peek out of my corner.

“What the hell are you doing back there?”

“Hiding from you!”

He looks around, and then quickly closes the distance between his spot and my hiding hole. Slipping inside, he holds up his gun in surrender.

“Truce?”

I tsk. “Someone’s gonna have to die, MacGyver.”

“I haven’t seen you in days,” he pleads. I drop my gun to my waist and so does he. The corner is shielded enough that we can both shift down and be completely hidden from view.

At first, I think he’s going to double cross me. He surprises me. As soon as we properly hide, his lips are on mine. He’s forceful. I push back, opening my mouth against his, reaching up and lacing my fingers in his hair. When he pulls away, just barely, he whispers, “Sorry. Sorry, I just…”

“Didn’t get a private moment yet?” I say, kissing him lightly again. “I’m going to have to give you a rain check. I’m sorry too. I’m so sorry.”

“What do you mean—"

I press my gun against his chest. He shakes his head. "I'll yell for Jack before you can kill me."

I remove my gun, holding both hands up. "Okay, okay. I see your terms. Let's talk this through. Laser tag is a gentleman's sport."

"If you win, Jack's going to be insufferable," he says.

"If _you_ win, Jack is going to be insufferable."

"Well, we're really screwed here, aren't we?"

"I'm going to present my case," I say. I have to try a different tactic. Not one I usually use, but not one I'm against. At this point, I need him closer to me. I’m doing it before I even think. "If Jack loses, he's going to remember it forever." I have barely enough room to straddle him. His mouth moves, but he doesn't form words. "And we can make sure of that. It's like a mission failure, without the haze of death around it."

He actually sets down his gun to grasp my hips. I see a light flicker in his eyes. It’s not from our harnesses. "Why don't we let them sort it out, and whoever lives, they win."

"That's an unfair advantage to Riley," I say, leaning in closer to him. I can see his chest rising and falling, heavier than usual.

"I was gonna say the same thing, actually," he admits, finally caving and pulling me down to kiss him. The only thing we can see is whatever's illuminated by the flashing lights. His body, pressed against mine, is the closest we've ever been. I'm suddenly disappointed at the buzzer signaling another death.

"Why do I feel like we're in the _Hunger Games?" _He says breathlessly. I steal his phone apparatus and look around the corner to see the person walking off the arena.

"You're definitely a District 3," I say, trying to get a better vantage point without moving from my perch in his lap.

"If I'm District 3, you're..."

"Probably District 13," I admit, finally seeing the victor and victim.

"Wait, District 13? I thought they were destroyed?"

"Oops, you haven't read the rest, have you?" I grin. "Besides, Jack just left the arena. It's two against one. Time to pay the piper, MacGyver."

"I submit to your terms, Harper, but I have one final request."

"If it's within my power, I'll grant it."

He pulls me back to him, kissing me harder than ever. His hands almost slip under my shirt, but he stops himself. I almost have to brace myself against the wall. I feel his fingertips on my waist, and I desperately don't want to let go, but I know we have to end this before we get caught by Riley or worse.

I finally break the kiss, and he holds up his hands in surrender.

“Make it quick and painless.”

I shoot him while I’m still straddling him, and the alarms sound. He sneaks one more kiss before I get off of him and crawl out of our hidey hole. He slips out the other direction, then jumps to his feet almost in front of Riley.

"You havin' fun back there?" She says, grinning widely.

"I just died, Riles. Have a little respect," he says with mock seriousness before running to catch up to Jack.

“So, how’d you take down Mac?” She asks suspiciously, giving me a high five.

“Seduction,” I whisper. I watch after Mac. I know this conversation isn’t over. Conversation? I don’t know if it could be considered that, but that’s what we’re calling it right now.

“Somehow, I knew that was gonna be your play.” She nods back to Jack, who seems to be nursing his hypothetical wounds. “Set a trap for him.”

“How?!”

“Hacked some of the light sensors and made him a trail to follow.”

“Riley, I think I’m in love with you.”

She just gives me a wink as we all head towards the door. Jack is pissed, I can tell. I can't look at Mac without blushing.

“That was cheating,” Jack says, turning in our gear.

“She did what she had to do,” I say, leading us outside again. I’m not sure where we’re headed, but I start walking backwards down the path. I look off to my left and see the batting cages. “Listen, a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s… gotta do…”

I can smell it. I can smell the baseball diamond, the .250 batting average my freshman year on the girls team, the .305 average my junior year with the boys team. I can taste the blood on my lips from when one of the boys from South Boston elbowed me as I tried to slide into third base. Chris Hancock and Johnny O’Neal got suspended for the rest of the season for fighting the kid.

“Hey, Thea, you in there?”

I step back instinctively, finally turning to Jack. He offers me a Louisville Slugger.

“Where did you get that?” I ask.

“Get in there. Got you a few rounds.”

I look at the bat, then back to Jack, then to the bat again before snatching it. There’s something so right about the baseball bat in my hands. I’ve missed it; it’s been years since I’ve played, and I hope I still have it in me. I’ve got to find out soon, because now I have half the team watching me from behind.

I hear Jack’s voice, dropping low in an attempt to hide it from me as I try to concentrate.

“Just wait ‘til you see her hit. Saved our asses in Tegucigalpa.”

“Did she play?” Riley asks.

“Back in high school, she played on the varsity baseball team," Mac says.

“Don’t you mean softball?” Riley says.

I can’t stand for that kind of misrepresentation, so I speak up. “Charlestown High School, Division 3 Champs, senior year. I was shortstop. Playing baseball,” I articulate.

“Boys’ team,” Jack clarifies.

The machine spits out a perfect pitch, and with the sound of the crack, I know it would be a home run, over the fence. Although it hurts my arm a little, it’s intoxicating.

I hit another, and another, and finally I hear Riley, her comment short and definitive.

“We need her on the team.”

Jack speaks up. “Can we still make personnel changes?”

“Swap her in for Boze. He’ll understand. He gets super anxious when he’s got to play organized sports. She could win us the rematch,” Mac adds.

“We’ll have to play her like a ringer,” Jack says. “They can’t know.”

“Can’t know what?” I say, looking over my shoulder.

“You’re gonna be our key to winning the championship,” Jack says, a wide grin on his face.

* * *

_Marina del Rey, CA _

**Later that night**

We celebrate the afternoon of festivities with a long, drawn out dinner. It takes entirely too long. I can't keep glancing at Mac before they start to realize what's going on. I can't forget about the laser tag arena, and I don't think he can, either. It's obvious when we leave the restaurant; Jack and Riley make a move towards his car, while Mac and I hang back.

"There's no use in you making the drive south when you've got to go north," I try. "Besides, it's not that far. I can walk it."

"You sure?" Jack says. "It's not like it's any trouble—"

Mac surprises me by speaking up. "I can make sure she gets home."

"You know she can handle herself, right?" Jack says, but Riley is starting to look at me with a wily smirk.

"C'mon, Jack, they'll be fine," Riley says, pushing him towards the car. "See you kids later!" Riley says, almost mockingly. They're gone before we can get into Mac’s jeep.

"Riley knows," Mac says definitively before he even starts the car. "She totally caught us in the arena."

"I'm strangely okay with her knowing," I say. "She knows how to keep her mouth shut."

"Bozer, on the other hand..." Mac drifts.

"Yeah, don't tell Boze."

He chuckles as we turn onto Lincoln. Traffic is horrible at this time of night. If we had walked, I would be home by now.

"You know, we didn't really say what Riley knows."

"About us?" He asks.

"Yeah, what are we, Mac?"

He takes a beat to answer. "I don't know. I don't have an answer for you. At least, not a good one."

We meet the turn on Jefferson and I know we're almost there. I have too much to say at this point. “You know, we spent three years writing to each other and all I ever wanted was to be close to you. From chaos theory to… to whatever this is." The first time my brain hears the thought is when it’s halfway out my mouth. I don’t know what I’m doing. “What the hell were we doing, Mac? What the hell have we been doing for these years?"

It takes him a moment to speak. It's not what I expect. "What... what were you going to tell me in Siberia?"

"I told you. I was going to improvise."

He shakes his head. "I don't buy it. You're not that kind of person. You always know what you're going to say."

"Sometimes, with you, I don't know. I knew what I wanted to say. But I never wanted to hurt you. You didn't need that on your conscience."

He parks in my guest spot and gets out, walking me to the front of the building. I lean against the door into the apartment building, not ready to unlock it. "I heard you talking to Riley while I was still in the hospital. You were telling her about me."

He knows what I'm referring to, but he’s not willing to admit it. Not yet. "That I was nineteen when I met you?"

"After that," I say. "About something…. Something stopping, and you didn’t know why it stopped. What were you talking about?”

He opens his mouth to say something, but immediately shuts it, like he can’t answer. Any attempt he had at being cool, calm, and collected disappears.

“Then, I heard Jack talking to Bozer. Apparently, I was the one who got away.”

“That person you try to forget when you find someone else,” he says, almost under his breath. He chuckles a little, avoiding my eyes. He just looks out, anywhere but at me. "I-I always knew what I wanted to say to you, but I never found the right way to say it."

“Then what the hell are we doing, Mac? Why do we keep fighting against what we both know we wanted all this time? I mean, we’re square on when you joined DXS, we’re square from Rio. What the hell are we waiting for? An invitation? A sign?”

My breath catches in my throat as his expression fades from concern, from confusion, to a decision.

He pulls me into him, almost forcefully, and I’m ready for it. I’ve been ready for it. I unlock the door, but I'm not fast enough, because Mac catches me. I slip up onto my tiptoes, pulling him in for a kiss, something we've deserved all along. But this time, it’s different.

He tries to pull me in, but I evade him, taking the stairs in twos. I barely make it to my apartment door before he pushes me against the wall, entwining his fingers in my hair, kissing me like I kissed him in the arena. He runs his lips down my chin, to my neck, and I finally get my door open.

We practically fall inside. I barely have enough time to lock the door before he's back to me and I'm gasping for air.

His hand slides around my waist and he pulls me into him, into his lips. He’s moving faster than I can even strategize. That’s a theme with Mac: he’s acting before I even get a chance to think. We’re opposites. I think before I act. He acts as he thinks.

At least this time, I’m fine with it. I push away from him, just long enough that I can take a breath for myself. "You're still mad about laser tag."

"You know what you did. You had an unfair advantage."

He tries to kiss me again, but I hold him at arm’s length, backing up towards my stairway while I kick off my shoes. I lead him towards my stairs, and I start up my staircase backwards.

“We really should talk about us,” I continue, keeping him at bay.

“I... thought we were.”

“Oh?” I grasp the railing tightly. He follows as closely as I’ll let him.

“Yeah, right now.”

“I mean, technically this really isn’t going to be talking.”

He laughs, he smirks, I want to sink into the stair steps. “Because we’re ones to embrace technicality.”

“Hey, just because you don’t doesn’t mean I can’t.”

“Don’t you think we’ve done enough talking?”

When I hit the top, I go to step, but my foot slides through air and slams down on the floor. For a moment, my heart jumps, thinking there was another step; Mac immediately wraps his arm around my waist and pulls me into another kiss, to safety away from the stairs. I have to stand on my tip toes, but his hand, still carefully, respectfully, on my hip supports me.

“You distracted me,” I accuse, but he tips my chin up and kisses me again. It’s enough to make a girl woozy.

“Like that’s never happened before,” he says as he traces his fingers across the edge of my t-shirt. He doesn’t kiss me as he drags it upwards; no, he forces me to watch him, just breaths from my lips, as he smirks.

He slips it over my head, so I do the same for him; I finally get rid of that damn t-shirt, maybe slightly faster than I intend. It doesn’t matter.

He unbuckles my belt, then my shorts, moving as fast as he can without becoming frantic. As soon as he pushes them off my hips, I start back towards my bed while he ditches his shoes, and by the time I fall back on my mattress, he’s already back to me, kissing my lips, my chin, my neck.

Pushing him up, I rise up on my knees and unbuckle his belt. I start for his pants, getting them unbuttoned, but he stops me. Instead, he pulls me closer so he can kiss me, and I feel the heat of his body. Feeling his skin against my skin just makes the heat rise in my chest.

“You know, we’re not really using words. Aren’t we supposed to be having a conversation?” I ask.

“I thought I was being very, very clear,” he says. His hand, resting on my hip, slips upwards until he reaches the small of my back. He traces my spine, leaving me to arch into him at the slight touch. He uses the opportunity to run his lips over my neck, then unhooks my bra. He nudges the straps off my shoulders, slowly and intentionally, until he can throw it on the floor.

I rest my forehead against his, waiting for him to make his next move. It's almost like he's deciding. He's deciding which line to cross, and whether it was worth it. I decided that this wasn't our Rubicon. We've been through that already. We’ve been through that countless times. This wasn't a fight. We’ve had our fair share already.

He just stares until I can't stand it anymore. We collide. He opens his mouth against mine, he gasps, wanting for air but only getting me instead. Eight years, my mind keeps singing. Eight years. Eight years and dozens of letters and finally—

He lays me down, running his mouth down the center of my chest. This time, I arch into him, and he concedes.

I kiss him again, and again, letting my hand trail from his chin down to his chest. I trace his scars. I know the stories of only a few, but there are countless. Most are small, insignificant; the larger ones, though, look as if they could have been serious, like the bullet shaped scar through his shoulder. I remind myself I have several to match.

"We should play laser tag more often," I say, slipping my hands under my pillow as he finally gets naked.

"Here's a compromise: why don't we just skip the laser tag?"

He kisses me, he kisses me until he's left me gasping but he's still kissing me, my neck, my collarbone. It's enough to make me arch into him, wanting to feel his skin against mine. His hand slips from my neck, my chin, down, down, until he grasps my breast in his fingertips. At first, he kneads me, he touches me in time to his breaths and kisses; after a moment, though, he runs his thumb over the peak, then continues his work on the other side. Before he's done, I know I just want him inside me, but he doesn't give me that luxury. Not yet.

He inches down along my body, leaving my mouth unkissed, but not out of work. I gasp, I can't help it, when he takes my nipple in his mouth. He runs his tongue over me, around me, then blows cool air on me, and I'm undone, until he switches sides. It's taking everything in me not to beg for him.

Just when I thought I would finally get release, he inches down me again, tracing the center of my chest with his mouth. I can't even watch him. I'm afraid I'll come if I do.

With a gentle motion, he slips my underwear off, and I’m finally naked under him. He parts my legs with his gentle hands, slipping between my knees, until I'm open for him. He gives himself a moment to look at me, but I'm already gasping for breath. I have a feeling, as he kisses down my thigh, that I'm going to have to regulate my breathing better if I'm going to survive.

As he settles down, his head between my legs, I'm panting before he gets there. I don't hear his laughter. I feel it. I feel the vibration against me.

"You're going to hyperventilate," he says. I go to answer, but his fingers part me and he slips his tongue across me. My breath hitches, and he doubles his efforts. Instinctively, I run my fingers through his hair, very nearly holding his face between my legs. This only makes it worse. He flicks his tongue harder, and although I'm distraught for a moment about one of his hands leaving me, I nearly buck against him when his finger enters me.

I have to grab the sheets. He curves his finger inside me, moving back and forth, until I feel like I can't breathe. He draws out from me, and for a second, I'm blinded again, blinded that he was leaving, not coming back, until another finger joins the first. When my breaths start becoming audible sounds, though, he draws from me, and I'm almost undone.

“Mac… Mac, please—”

"Are you...are you begging for me, now? I could get used to this, quite frankly."

"Dammit, I’m so damn close—"

“I know,” he says. Instead of retaliating, I reach into my nightstand and hand him a condom.

I'm still in a state of shock and awe when he joins me back on the bed. He kisses me first, and I can taste myself. I kiss him harder. I don't want him to go. Like he's teasing me, he runs his hand over me again, just enough to make me arch into him, and I feel him close to me. Before I start whimpering, begging him, he slips inside me. He fills me up, hard, wanting, waiting. He's waited long enough. So have I.

I have to close my eyes at first. In the dark, I could just feel him. I could feel his fingers as they grasped mine over my head, his mouth on mine, my neck. His gentle thrusts against me, inside me, around me. Through me.

I could hear it again. I could hear the distant ocean. I could feel myself, growing tight around him. The look on his face is somewhere between pure ecstasy and complete reverence. He’s looking at me like I’m a star and he’s millions of miles away on Earth seeing me for the first time.

When he finally rediscovers himself, he draws me closer to him, touching every bit of skin he could find with his lips. With each thrust, now, he gains a little more speed. I'm already there. I'm just waiting for him. I'm fine with waiting for him. I concentrate, but soon, it's not enough.

I can feel the waves, he can too; his cheeks flush. He doesn’t make a sound other than gasping breath; I take care of the rest. He knows he’s found what he’s looking for, and so have I.

I have to get a breath, though, I have to breathe, because each movement, each kiss, each breath brings me closer. I feel it deep inside my core, threatening to rise and overtake me completely.

He buries his face into my shoulder, muffling his cry. I’m not far after; he triggers me. I don’t know what does, whether it's him or just the pure want in his sounds; I clutch to him, riding out the waves until we crest and dissipate, still connected, still touching. As the waves ebb, I clutch him tightly, his blond hair creating a halo around his face, his smiling face. I hear the waves of the ocean in the distance. They create a chorus along with us as we laugh.


	11. Nikê: Victory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the first time in a long time, AJ is finding happiness: in baseball, in the team, and in Mac. But she knows eventually the bell curve shifts down and it has to be coming soon.

_Culver City, LA  
_ **Several days later**

I turn up the music on my headphones, staring at the field. I know I’ve got about half an hour before the game starts, but I had to get here early to clear my head.

I roll my shoulders. I’m still not 100 percent, but I don’t care. I’ve got to win this one. A lot is riding on it, whether I want to admit it or not.

It’s really been years since I’ve played, but I’m banking on the fact it’s like riding a bike. I’ve played for so long, it should come back to me easily. I was killing it at the cages the other day, so why would this be any different?

My phone vibrates; it’s a text from Mac.

_Coming up behind you. Didn’t want to freak you out._

I smile, I slip my earbuds from my ears, and he slides onto the bench next to me.

“Thanks for the warning.”

He kisses me, like it's the most casual thing in the world. We still haven't put a label on us, but I’m still not prepared for it. “Figured you probably had a weapon on you, and I didn’t want to be on the wrong end of it.”

“Just a baseball bat and my tac knife,” I say, “But that’s bad enough. You know what I’m capable of. How’d you know I was going to be here?”

“Wild guess,” he says, looking out over the baseball diamond. “You’re nervous.”

It’s not a question. It’s a statement, one that settles down into my throat and stays there, just noticeable enough to be annoying.

“I just want to win.”

“You’re amazing. We can do this.”

He does get me to crack a smile. “I need to. I need a win. We’ve got to pull this off.”

He tosses something into my lap. When I look down, it’s a bright red Phoenix baseball jersey, number 6, with a matching hat.

“You got me Johnny Pesky’s number?” I ask, holding it up in front of me. Number 6, Harper. I can’t hide my grin, for sure.

“I can’t take credit for that. That was Jack.”

“Thanks for admitting it.”

More people start milling about, both our team and theirs, so I throw my jersey over my tank top and put on my hat.

“Alright. Alright, let’s do this,” I hear my mouth say.

“That’s what I want to hear,” Jack says, pointing to me. “We’re gonna win this. We’re gonna smoke their asses.”

The rest of the team is starting to gather, and I see that Jack is finding himself in the dead center of the group, like he’s their king.

“Listen up. Game starts in fifteen minutes. I want you all focused and ready to go,” Jack begins. “Here’s what’s goin’ down. Anyone here doesn’t know Harper? Here’s your chance. AJ Harper.” He just points at me, so I nod at the group, not enjoying being put on the spot but I nonverbally lob the focus back to Jack.

“I weaseled her onto the team, and she’s taking Bozer’s place for the time being,” he explains. “Took a lot of convincing, but the NSA Listening Post #27 Panthers approved our terms. But there’s something y’all need to know about AJ—”

“Why don’t you let them figure it out, yeah?” I say to Jack, giving him a wink. “Besides, I don’t trust the listening post to, you know, not be listening.”

His eyes grow wide. “You’re right, you’re right. Good call. This is why you’re here. Here’s the news. Harper’s takin’ shortstop. Martinez, you’re movin’ to center field, then Juniper—”

“Jill! It’s not that ha—”

“I want you in the outfield. Left. Left field. How’s your arm?”

“Good enough—”

“Good. That’ll get Bozer’s position covered. Batting order changes. Mac’s first, Riley stays in second. I’m shifting to third, and AJ’s coming in on fourth. We all fill in from there. Got it?”

We all generally nod. I stretch my neck out, and we get dismissed before the start of the game.

I grasp the fence, staring out into the diamond, and a wave of… whatever it is shivers over me.

“You’re gonna do this,” Jack says, quietly, under his breath, close to me. “You’re gonna get this shit on lockdown. And we’re gonna win. Ain’t that right, baby?”

I just nod. I feel like I’m going into battle mode. I’m not mad about it. I need to get back into the mindset. It feels good, slipping back into it, like a warm blanket on a cold night.

“Focus. Relax. Position your weapon correctly. Watch your breath and release.”

“That’s our sniper’s checklist.”

“I know,” he whispers in my ear before leaving me to focus my rage. It’s like another drug in my bloodstream.

I watch as Jack goes out to figure out our play order. We’re up on defense. Good. Better this way.

Mac tries to say something to me, but I hear Riley calling him back. I can’t hear them. I don’t want to hear them. Not now. Not until after.

I get into position as shortstop. Like riding a bike, Harper.

Mac’s on the pitcher’s mound, and I don’t know how he’s gonna play in jeans, but I’d like to thank his decision making paradigm this morning. It’s not baseball pants, but it’s close enough. He looks around to the rest of the team to make sure they’re in position, and when he looks over his right shoulder, he finds me. He gives me a head nod and licks his lips before turning back around.

He can’t break my focus like that. I don’t watch him pitch.

Eventually, though, I can’t help it. It’s technically supposed to be softball, but he pitches like any of the baseball players I know. Not perfect form per se, but good enough for my focus to shift a little. I lose, suddenly, all that focus on the battle to be won, and watch as Mac pitches a positively uneventful first half. As we head back to the dugout, I slip by him and turn around, walking backwards as he leaves the mound. He blossoms into a smile.

“What? Didn’t think I could play baseball, too?”

I chuckle, shaking my head in disbelief as I slip into batting order. I don’t know what to say to him. I’m not sure I could form words at this point that would be appropriate in front of our coworkers. He realizes that quickly as he squares up to start our half of the inning. I can practically see the math in the air in front of him as he waits for the first pitch.

First ball. He makes a connection, but it fouls. Strike. He went too early.

“Loosen up! Be patient!” I call out. He doesn’t glance to me, but he nods once, fixing his shoulders.

The second ball makes a decent crack, sending it low and bounding between second and third base. He tries to run to second, but goes back to first, leaning his hands on his knees as Riley takes her place.

Immediately, she goes for the sacrifice bunt. She knows where her strengths are. She gets out, but Mac makes it to second base. He’s already prepared to steal, inching off.

Jack, as hard as he tries, strikes out. He comes back to the dugout, passing me, grumbling.

“Hey. They know you can’t hit the curveballs, so they keep hitting you with ‘em,” I say. “If it’s belt high, it’ll fall out of the strike zone. Don’t try for it. If it’s above, it’s a good ball. If it starts out high, she’s not pitching it right, which means it’s not gonna break and you can nail it.”

He nods, running back to the dugout.

And then it’s me. Not sure what Jack’s told the other team, but they shift a little, coming in. I make eye contact with Mac. He winks at me.

This isn’t a war. As much as Jack wanted to make me think of my sniper’s checklist, this isn’t life or death. For the first time in a while, I don’t have to think about whether I’m going to live through this or not.

I center it high and far. They’re not sure what to do right away, but I start hauling ass. I’m to second base before they even have it in their mitts, and I can hear Jack and Riley screaming at the top of their lungs as Mac runs it into home.

They’re almost to me, so I commit to the slide, and the dirt coats my legs and part of my jersey as I pop up. We’re so quick, I don’t think the NSA knew what happened for once, as soon as the dust settles.

I make it back to the dugout and the team is already losing it, but Mac settles into the back of the dugout, arms crossed, looking particularly smug as he talks to Bozer on the other side.

I get my share of high fives as I go to join him.

“Girl, I’m glad you took my spot,” Bozer says emphatically. “You’re gonna do so much better than me.”

“Did you tell him?” I ask Mac, and he beckons Bozer closer.

“She’s basically a high school baseball star,” he explains. “Took Jack some finagling, but we got her on the roster, and I think the NSA is just realizing they made a bad decision.”

Bozer just chuckles maniacally and goes back to his seat. I join Mac, leaning against the metal cage.

“Good hit,” he says under his breath, not looking at me. “Kinda hot.”

“You wanna give a girl a little heads up on that pitching next time?”

“Oh, you liked that?”

“Yeah, and the fact that I get to stare at your ass during half the inning.”

He tries to keep a straight face, but he immediately busts out laughing. Against the metal fencing, I feel his fingertips. His hand entwines with mine.

* * *

Top of the third. I watch the squirrelly looking NSA employee inching his way from second base. He’s planning on stealing third, I know he is, I just don’t know when. Four to four.

I look to Jill, then nod my head towards this asshole. She nods once. He’s gonna be the one we take out if the ball comes this way. He’ll be an easy tag.

Alright, so we don’t have a no hitter. Mac did his best, but he’s just too methodical. It’s fine. We’re okay.

Jack, behind me in center field. The hit slips right past Mac, goes down the center, and bounces before Jack snatches it up. He wings it at me, and I easily tag the runner out as he nearly hits third. I toss it hard to Jack, and he gets out the next runner before he hits second. Three outs, you’re done. More cheers from the dugout.

As we jog back in, I grasp Riley, and she lets out a squeal.

“You’re having fun, aren’t you?”

I readjust my hat. “Like you wouldn’t believe.”

Mac goes out to hit, and she steps a little closer. At first, she doesn’t say anything, but I recognize the look on her face, so I do it for her.

“Riles?”

“Hmm?”

“Thanks for talkin’ to me that one day. Couple of months ago.”  
She seems surprised as first. “Oh, yeah. Sure. I felt like you needed it.”

“I did. Been a long time since I’ve had anyone watching my back. It’s… it’s a weird feeling.”

Riley just smiles, waits, and then answers the question in the back of my mind. “Mac never asked me to talk to you. I made that decision myself.”

I stop. I don’t want to lose focus, but I glance to her. She’s got dirt on her face already. She doesn’t seem to mind. She seems to wait for a response, but I don’t have one for her. I just pull her into a hug. It takes her a second to hug me back, but she does. And I think that’s all that really matters.

* * *

Bottom of the ninth. Four to seven, them. I’m starting to doubt myself. The only way we’re going to get this is with a fucking grand slam. As we switch, as we make it back to the dugout, I start trying to formulate a plan during our time out, but there’s not much I can do other than hit as hard as I can.

I slip my fingers into the metal of the fence and close my eyes. I hear Ri say my name, but Jack calls her quietly back.

“It’s happening,” Jack whispers quietly. I keep taking deep breaths. “Oh, man. It’s happening. She’s doin’ that thing where she digs deep and—and… she’s gonna be scary. Don’t talk to her. Don’t interrupt her. Don’t touch her.”

I let go of the fence and beckon them closer. They’re all on me, quiet, listening intently.

“Mac, they’re gonna go for the fastball for you, but she throws low. Settle into the hit. Don’t try to hit it high. You need to hit it just a little late. It’s not gonna feel right, but you gotta try. I just need you to get to first. Riles, sacrifice like you’ve been doing, but try to send it to the left, not to the right. That’ll get Mac to second base and you to first. Jack, you gotta do what I told you with the curveball. If you can get it into the outfield, their left fielder is slow and the sun gets in his eyes. You all get the bases loaded, and I can take it home.”

They all nod. It’s serious business now, as the timeout gets called and Mac brushes past me to take his place. As he does, he grabs my hand again. I desperately want to kiss him, but I don’t. I’m too focused. Right now, it’s enough.

I watch the inning unfold. I pray to every god listening, until I realize—why does this mean so damn much to me? It’s just a baseball game. It’s just a game.

Mac misses the first fastball. I see him settle a little, and then he glances back to me.

I just nod. I nod, and then he turns back to the pitch. He sends it low, just low enough that he gets enough time to make it to first. I realize I’m holding my breath.

Although they know how Riley hits, she barely has to try to send it off in the other direction. Mac to second, Riles to first.

Jack takes his spot. First curveball: out of the box. Second: he wings it, and I’m afraid it’s almost a foul, but it bounds past their shortstop’s purview and right into the fumbly hands of their bespectacled left fielder.

The dugout falls into a hush. I don’t think they’ve ever seen this before as I stroll out to home base. I grasp the bat in my hands, feeling the catch of the wood grain. Out of tradition, out of whatever it is, I turn my hat around so I have full visibility.

Their pitcher stares me down. Fastball or curveball. That’s what I’m waiting on. I just gotta gamble on which one.

She knows. For a moment, I feel like I psych her out. I hope I do. I hope she knows what I’ve done and what I could do.

I look out past her, though. On first base, Jack waits, already trying to sneak off. Riley is poised like a runner at the block. And Mac, he watches me with an intensity, a slight smirk.

“You got this,” he calls out.

That’s why. That’s why this means so much to me.

Bottom of the ninth. The bases are loaded. For the first time in months, I truly feel alive.

Focus. Focus on the ball. Like time slows down, he winds up.

Relax. You’ve already hit. You’ve already won.

Position. I wind back, and she lets fly. Fastball.

They’re already running as soon as the pitch lets out, but I hit as hard as I can. I feel my breath stop in my chest, and I hold it until I hear the loud crack. Contact. A bit left of center, high, and far. I don’t know how far, I just hear screaming.

By the time I hit second, Mac and Riley have already made it to home. I try to see where the ball is, but I can tell by the warning cries they’re not far behind. Jack skids, hits home, and barely pops up quick enough, because I’m almost right behind him. I need to get low. Fucking hell, I have to slide again.

I commit to a headfirst slide. Down, and I know I’m going to regret it in the morning. It’s close. I cough in the dust, but it’s over. Screams. Good screams.

I decide to lay there for a while. I mean, it’s not like I have to get up. While the game isn’t over, I mean, it’s over. We could play for more runs, but who really wants to commit to that? We just shamed them with a bottom of the ninth game winning grand slam. It’s not even worth it for them.

I’m a little winded, and I’m tired, and the ground feels better than standing. Pretty sure I hit a rock or something sliding, but I don’t even care.

The screaming mass finally makes it to me, and suddenly, unwillingly, I’m on my feet again. Well, I’m not even sure my feet are on the ground. I’m not moving of my own volition at this point.

Jack is the one contributing mostly to the screaming, I realize, and only stops when he kisses me full on the mouth before starting to scream again.

“Eight to seven! Eight to seven, baby!”

Somewhere I hear Matty’s laugh, but she’s lost in the sea of red Phoenix jerseys. I soon weasel my way out to try to gain some air. The other team is already starting to congregate in their own box. I get a nod of respect from their first baseman.

I’m out of breath, I’m exhausted, I haven’t pulled off that since junior year of high school, and it’s intoxicating.

I’m fine resting on my laurels, until I feel an arm grasp me around my hips. Mac pulls me into him as I wipe the sweat from my forehead.

“That was spectacular. Amazing. Ridiculous.”

“Amazing!” I hear Jack yell as he grasps Riley probably too tightly. She’s calling out in pain.

“That wasn’t me. That was all of us. That was amazing.”  
He still holds on, his hands on my hips, my arms resting on his shoulders. “You hit a grand slam. In the bottom of the ninth inning. An ultimate grand slam.”  
“That’s a horrible name,” I say. “Nah, we always used to call it a backyard grand. You know, when you’re a kid. ‘Down by three, the bases, loaded…’”

He chuckles. “Still. Do you know the odds of a hit like that? Only 28 in the major leagues have ever done it since 1881. Trailing by three, bottom of the ninth, it’s like…” He looks up, mouthing something, but I can’t hear him. “A one in… ten thousand, five hundred… one in ten thousand, five hundred and forty-five chance.”

He trails off as I blankly stare at him. He almost looks embarrassed for a second. Sometimes I forget he’s just a genius-level nerd packed into a slender, crime-fighting hot body.

“You haven’t done that in a while,” I finally say. “Not since… since Siberia.”

“And Boston,” he says, smiling apologetically.

“Chaos theory,” I chuckle.

Instead of responding, he kisses me, so I grab his hat and use it to shield us from the group of Phoenix employees next to us.

When he finally lets me breathe, he holds me at arms’ length.

“You’re a mess.”

“I went hard, MacGyver.”

“You’re literally bleeding.”

I shrug, pushing his hat back down on his head. I pull the brim down too far so he can’t see, and when I glance over to the celebrating group, I see Matty giving me a look of realization. Maybe… maybe not realization. More like confirmation. I’m not sure what she saw, but I’m going to assume all of it.

I try not to panic. It’ll be fine. She’ll only be able to intervene if it affects our work performance.

But she just turns and heads back to the crowd.

* * *

I’m emotionally and physically exhausted after our victory dinner on Venice Beach. Jack acted like a king in his court—naturally—and soon Mac and I stumble back to my apartment, drunk on the high of finally winning.

Jack had asked if I wanted a ride, but Mac had vehemently explained he would make sure I got there. Jack, being too excited on his own, thought this a good enough explanation, so it seems.

“I cannot believe we pulled that off,” Mac says, still laughing about it as I unlock my apartment door and nearly fall in.

“I can. You just needed one more good player. Strategically, you were playing just fine, it was your offensive play that wasn’t doing well. You just needed one ass kicking hitter to put you over the edge.”

“Are you saying that was you?”

I extricate my hat from my very messy hair, take my hair down, then slip my hat on backwards and give him a wink before searching my apartment thoroughly for the first aid kit.

“You left it in the bathroom,” he says, and goes to grab it before pointing at the kitchen counter. I shakily try to pull myself up onto it, but my arms have lost all strength.

“I feel like jelly.”

“You definitely hit hard enough to put Yastrzemski to shame,” he says, picking me up like a child and putting me on the countertop. Still, I gasp.

“Don’t you ever speak ill of Yaz!”

He finds the patch of my arm I managed to scratch to hell and back during my final slide on my backyard grand, and I cringe a little as he cleans it up.

“I’m not speaking ill of him. I’m just saying with your relative strength to bodyweight ratio, and your hit speed, I’m sure if the statistics were compensated for your smaller frame, you would be on par with…”

“You’re doing it again,” I deadpan.

“I refuse to apologize,” he says. He lets go of me, and I slide closer to him, thinking he would move away so I could come down. But he didn’t, and I just managed to minimize the distance between us.

"You think it's time to hit the showers, Harps?" He says. I flip his hat off his head.

"I think we've earned that, don't you think?"

He kisses me, tossing my hat to the floor. I try to get him out of the way so I can get off the countertop, but I let out a squeal when he tosses me over his shoulder and carries me to the bathroom.

I'm the happiest I've been in years.


	12. Skiras: Sun-shade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matty is not subtle. That was AJ’s first thought about getting pulled for a mission. She was unnecessary, but she’s heard the fake married ploy before. Regardless, AJ knows she’s going to take advantage of the opportunity. But so does Mac.

_Marina del Rey, CA  
_ **Mid May**

It’s unclear whose nightmare wakes up who. I think it’s a joint venture; the sun is barely starting to come up and we both make a silent yet group decision to just take a shower.

I slip back into bed after I dry off, settling down on what has become my side. It's Saturday, so I pull the covers back over my head.

Mac has been spending a hell of a lot of nights at my place. I know he hasn’t told Bozer. I still can’t figure out why, but I know Bozer knows. I told him. We’re just waiting for Mac to figure it out.

I feel his weight next to me; I settle down into my pillows. I finally feel like I could go back to sleep, so I shut my eyes, ignoring Mac, much to his chagrin, I think.

He kisses my neck first. I hum in contentment. He continues to kiss me, until he slips towards my collar bone. I refuse to open my eyes. He doesn’t object, running his hand up my jaw and tilting me towards him.

He kisses me deeply, but suddenly, he leaves, and I open my eyes to try to find him.

He slips beneath the sheet, and although I can’t see him, I feel where he goes: his fingers trace up my thigh, and I feel his breath. I shift for him, sleepily, and he kisses me until I pull in a sharp gasp.

My hands already take in handfuls of my sheets. I feel him part me with his fingers, then his tongue, flicking against me. He starts a fast, light rhythm. I feel the heavy rise and fall of my chest as he works under the ghost of a cover.

I let out a moan-sigh, and that’s enough for him; he pushes my thighs apart to get a better vantage point, so it seems. Beams of light stream in through my skylight, and I can see him under the sheet, a specter.

But my ecstasy is abruptly cut short at the sound of my phone ringing. He doesn’t stop, not until I find my phone. I pull up the sheet, and he kisses my inner thigh.

“It’s Matty,” I explain breathlessly, trying to push him away for the time being. “Don’t say anything.” I answer it, putting it on speaker phone. “Hey, Matty, what’s up?” I say, affecting a tired voice.

_ “Harper. I need you at Phoenix. I’ve got an op for you.”_

I hold back my gasp. Without warning, Mac’s slipped a finger inside me. I glare at him, and he just smirks, knowing what he’s doing. I silently draw in a breath, both trying to get him to stop and not wanting him to stop for anything.

"Are you letting me come back early?"

_"Don't get any ideas. This is a temporary thing."_

“Affirmative,” My voice cracks. “I’ll be there ASAP.”

_“Have you heard from Blondie? He’s not answering his phone.”_

“Uhh, no,” I struggle to control my breathing. He just gives me a smirk as he swipes his tongue across me, swiftly increasing speed.

_“He’s usually so quick to answer,” _she muses, sounding like I should know something.

“I’ll call him, don’t worry,” I say quickly. “He should be fine.”

In retaliation, I presume, he slips another finger inside me. I have to cover my mouth.

_“Everything okay over there?”_

“Yes! Yes. I’ll be there soon,” I try. He’s relentless, and I can’t even grab for my phone to end the call. Smashing the end call button until I hit it, I finally let out the gaspy breath I had been holding at bay. “What the fuck was that, Mac?”

“What, not even an ‘I’m coming’ joke?” He says as I can’t stop squirming. His two fingers inside me may seem like nothing to him, but I can only take in gasps of air. “I could ask you anything right now and you would answer,” he muses, leaning back down into me. “When you went through training, what was your code word?”

I lock my brain down. “You’re not going to use this as an interrogation tactic now, are you?” I gasp. “We… we need to go to work, Mac. We—we—”

I grasp tightly to the sheets, shivers cascading down my body. Between his fingers, between his movements, his tongue, I can’t be still.

“Dammit, Mac, I am too—too trained to deal with your bullshit right now.”

I arch into the bed, and he slides his free hand to my stomach, pushing me back down against the sheets. It’s not like he had any reason to expect me to leave, but still, he pins me.

“Tell me your code word.”

“Like hell—a-am I gonna tell you,” I shudder. He flicks his tongue over me, stopping his questioning until the only sound I can hear is myself.

"What would I have to do to get you to tell me?"

"Nothing. I-I'm a steel trap."

Suddenly, he draws out of me, away from me, and I'm shaking.

"Mac."

"AJ."

"Don't do this."

He just waits, he kisses my thighs, and I will him to come back.

"What happened to the steel trap?"

"Don't make me ask again," I say. "This is unfair. You can't leave me like this. I can’t work like this."

"You didn't give me your code word."

"And I'm never going to," I snap back, trying to breathe.

He peers at me, his eyes mischievous, until he seems to break, slipping his fingers back inside me. I can't help but slip my fingers into his golden hair. In the sunlight, he glows.

I feel the waves hit and crash, the ebb, the constant build until he knows what he’s done and I finally let go. My moans and his laugh bounce off the high ceilings of my apartment, until I can finally stop panting and my heart slows. He leaves me and I’m barely able to function for a few minutes.

“I’ll see you at Phoenix,” Mac says, throwing on his clothes from last night. I still don’t know if I can move.

“Mac, I’m not gonna be able to look at you in front of Matty. She’s gonna know,” I say to the ceiling.

He fumbles with his henley as he stands near the stairway. “My assumption is, she already knows.”

* * *

Mac, Jack, and Riles are all present when I finally make it into the war room. Matty doesn’t look mad; in fact, she looks pleased as hell. Something tells me she’s got her hands into something that’s either going to make me extremely happy or extremely pissed.

I don't look at Mac. He just left my apartment not too long ago, and I don't want to make an indication of recognition.

Although I'm still trying to recover.

“Fantastic of you to join us. We were just discussing our latest mission and your name came up.”

“Oh? Is that legal? Are you putting me back into the field?” I sidle up to Mac, and he gives me a slight head nod. It’s really all we can afford right now. I settle into parade rest, concealing my smirk.

“For this mission only,” she explains. “As long as you four don’t mess things up, this should be an easy search and recovery. You’re retrieving this man, Brent Langley—”

She shows a face and dossier on the screen. He’s not the nicest looking fellow, but he’s pretty unassuming, like a white dude in a sea of white dudes.

“He’s an electrical engineer turned terrorist accused of hacking the Pentagon,” she explains, glancing to Riley. “Trying to steal information about our military’s prototype weapons. Thankfully, we stopped him from taking almost all of the information, but now he’s on the run.”

“How did we stop him already?” I ask. Without looking, Matty and Riley high five. That explains her smug face.

“Under his fake ID, we’ve found him.”

“What’s his location?” Mac asks.

“Orlando, Florida,” Matty says. “That’s when things get a little bit complicated.”

“Alligators, complicated?” Jack offers, already seemingly concerned about the wildlife.

“Not real alligators,” Matty says. “Last location?”

She glances to Riley, who starts grinning maniacally as she opens up a photo file. It’s Cinderella’s Castle.

“Excuse me?” I sputter. “He’s hiding out at Walt Disney World?!”

“We honestly don’t know his reasoning for going to the theme park. It’s one of the most secure locations in the country, but still, he’s there, and we’re expecting him to be there for the next week. The mission is to apprehend and take him in with little to no interruptions. You will have the assistance of the Disney World security team, but they are just not equipped to take him down.”

“We’re literally going to Disney World,” Jack says. It’s obvious he has heard nothing of the briefing.

“That’s right, Jack,” Matty says slowly. “You’re going to Disney World on a mission.”

“Are we gonna be able to ride the rides?”

“Jack, the only reason you’re going on this mission is because Riley asked for it,” Matty snaps. “You’re really unnecessary. But I figure if I’m stealing Mac, I can send you with Riley for seven days.”

Matty turns to talk to Mac and I, but I hear Jack muttering sweet nothings to Riley, who rolls her eyes.

“I want you two as the primary team,” she says to us. “This is a temporary thing, AJ. You’re going undercover.”

With that, she tosses something small at each of us. I reach out to catch it, and Mac and I are left with a pair of silver bands. Mine has a possibly fake engagement ring attached.

“The hell is this,” I start, but Matty grins.

“You’re on your post-wedding vacation. Bozer has been helping Jill to organize your gear. You’re going in as Alyssa James—”

“I hate that.”

“’AJ’? You ever think of that? Sorry, Mac, you’re going under as Mackenzie James. Both of you don’t have to worry about changing what you call each other. Riley, you’re going under as AJ’s maid of honor. Cover and information will be on the plane. Same to you, Jack—”

“Best man?!” He says, nudging a slightly amused Mac.

“You’re going to have to play the part, so they’re making sure you have the appropriate costumes for the trip.”

“Excuse me, costumes?” I say. I’m doing a weaponry count in my head, and she’s suggesting costumes. Costumes.

“The kids do something these days called Disneybounding? I don’t know, Bozer and Jill both seemed to be up on it. They’re making sure you look the part.”

“Do we have to dress up?” Riley asks. “Because that’s gonna be a problem.”

“No, just our happy couple.” Matty gives me a smirk, like if I fight her, she’ll out us. “Wheels up in twenty.”

I slip the ring in my pocket and start for the door, trying not to look anyone in the eye. I can feel the blush rising on my face as I head to the armory.

* * *

We all board the plane as I’m trying to restack my weapons in the x-ray proof case. Jack harrumphs as he walks by, eyeing my work. I play with my Colt, the one that I found again in Siberia, but something's wrong with it. I haven't shot it since then, and I thought I checked it before we left.

“You really think you’re gonna need that many clips?”

“Be prepared, Walk. Be prepared.”

“I ain’t judgin’, I’m just glad to be here,” he says, throwing himself down onto one of the seats.

“You’re welcome,” Riley says, calling Jack out.

“You know I love you, Riley,” Jack says loudly, so Mac can hear him as he gets on the plane.

“I’m already under duress,” He grumbles, and I look up. It takes everything in me not to lose it. Under his blue and white plaid shirt, he sports a dark grey t-shirt that says, in white Disney font, “Groom”. I’m crying from laughing until he throws something at me. “Don’t think you’re escaping. This is a matching shirt.”

I grasp it with two fingers and toss it to the other seat, refusing to look at it right now. We had four hours before that became an issue. In fact, I’d really like to know why Matty decided we had to be fake married, instead of Mac and Riley, other than the fact that there were computers everywhere in Disney and we would need her to hack…

Okay, I get it, but I really hate this. I’m afraid Matty already knows too much.

I slip my stuff away, sans Colt, and we suffer through takeoff. Once we’re in the air, Jack and Riley go in to interrogation mode while I fumble with the gun.

“So, AJ, how did you and Mac meet?” Riley says in a sugary sweet voice.

“I recruited him to the Army, then both of us ended up working at a secret quasi-governmental organization hunting terrorists—”

“AJ, c’mon, you’re gonna have to know the answers to these questions. People are gonna ask,” Riley says, her serious face nearly breaking from giggling.

“You’re enjoying this entirely too much. Stop it.”

Mac settles into the seat next to me, and he starts to roll up his sleeves. I’m not okay with it. I’m not okay with any of this. Without another word, though, he takes the gun from my hands.

“I met AJ while I was in college,” Mac says, barely looking up from what he’s doing. The half lie, half-truth he weaves has me mesmerized, suddenly. “I was barely a sophomore, while she was getting her Master’s degree in political science. But I dropped out, joined the Army.”

“We wrote letters to each other until he came back,” I say, catching on where he dropped off. “I ended up working in a government office in LA. We reconnected after five years. I actually helped get him a job at my office.”

He looks to me, smiles. We’re pretty good at coming up with these stories, I realize.

“How long have you been together?” Riley asks innocently.

Mac feigns counting. “Technically about three years, but we’ve know each other for… eight.” He counts even the time we were apart. I really can't answer right now. I just stare at him while he makes up our story. "You got your kit?"

I open up my case, and I hand it to him.

"It's your firing pin," he explains, finding the right tool and starting to reassemble it for me. Jack and Riley both stare me down. I decide, instead, to ignore it.

“How did he propose?” Jack asks, with the tone of a college sorority girl.

I turn my focus to Mac, still putting my gun back together. “Yeah, that’s a problem. You never did.”

He looks down at my hand. “You need to wear the ring.”

“No. I’m not wearing it. Not until you propose.”

Riley clasps her hands over her mouth, hiding her not so elegant giggling. Jack’s face just lights up.

“You know this isn’t real, right?” Mac says. I reach into my pocket and put the ring in his hand. He trades it for my Colt.

“Ain’t gonna wear it until you propose.”

“You need the story anyway,” Riley says, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. “Alright, Mac, perfect proposal. Where would it be?”

He thinks for a moment, seemingly planning this marriage proposal that will never be. It’s almost touching, until he bites his lip and starts speaking. Then it becomes terrifying.

“We’re in Boston. We do the entire Freedom Trail, start to finish, and end at the Union Oyster House.”

I look down at my hands, my gun. I have to hide my face. I feel the blush come back.

“After dinner, we go for a walk, because we both probably had too much wine, and end up at the wharf. We probably break into one of the ships there at the Boston Tea Party Museum, but in reality, I had the foresight to rent it out for us. It’s still highly likely we just sneak on.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” I mutter.

“And while we’re on the ship, I propose.”

That’s really enough for me, but it seems Jack and Riley are still unsatisfied.

“Do it,” Jack says, pointing to the floor. “You gotta say it. You heard her, Mac. She ain’t puttin’ the ring on until you do it.”

Riley waves her left hand in the air like Beyoncé.

He shakes his head, and he’s gotta know I’m just as uneasy about it as he is as Jack takes my gun and forces me to stand.

“Alright, well, I’m gonna improvise, so here we go.”

“Not the best way to start a proposal,” Riley critiques.

“Will you cut me some slack? I just found out about this an hour ago,” He says. He clears his throat, and suddenly, I’m listening. For a minute, I can feel the shift of the boat beneath my feet and see the stars in the sky.

“AJ, when we first met, I was…” He stops, but then he looks to me. His concerned look fades to one of recognition. “When we first met, I was transfixed by you. You were this… this strong soldier who still managed to treat me with a gentleness I desperately needed. Even through the times neither of us deserved it. And—and even when we were apart for so long, I didn’t truly realize how much I needed you until you left my life again.”

He had at some point sunk to his knee, and held the fake ring in his hand. He looks up at me. I don’t think he’s faking. I mean, he’s faking the proposal, for sure, but he’s not making this up. His expression is sincere. Either that, or he’s really that good at lying, which I can’t believe. He wouldn’t lie to me like this.

“Now that you’re in my life, I don’t want you to leave. I don’t know what I would do without you. Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

I can’t even answer. In fact, I feel a tear roll down my cheek. This is fake, AJ. This is all fake.

“Yes—yes I will,” I choke out. He slips the ring on my finger. I stand there, stunned. When I look to Riley and Jack, they seem to be, too. We’re all speechless. We all decide it’s a good time to take some time to ourselves on the plane ride.

* * *

I head into the main building at the French Quarter Disney Resort Hotel, leaving Mac to deal with our bags. I figured it’s the least I could do since he made me suffer through that ridiculous fake proposal.

I’m hyper-aware of the ring on my finger. It feels weird. When I get up to the front desk, I know I have to put it on hold.

“Reservation for Alyssa and Mackenzie James?” I ask, giving the attendant my best excited smile.

“Hello, and welcome!” She falls into their usual spiel, something I’ve heard countless times at countless hotels, and I just give her a wide smile. “So, you and your wife—” she stumbles, and then catches herself as she looks over my shoulder. “Or—or husband—”

I glance, seeing Mac approaching with the luggage cart.

“Yeah, I considered the wife option, but Mac’s a keeper,” I say, hoping to make the mortified attendant laugh. She chuckles, and Mac looks confused for a second before we start for our rooms.

Out of the corner of my eye, as we head out, I clock Riley and Jack coming in and ignore the conversation I’m hearing in my ear.

All that matters to me is that we’re on the first floor. There’s no jumping from a higher floor if something goes wrong. That always ends in broken ankles. When we get there, I’m relieved. We’re finally left alone in a room with a king-sized bed, and I suppress the urge to jump on it. I really, really have to suppress the urge.

“You’re either tired or wanna jump on that bed,” Mac comments, rearranging our stuff so we can easily get to our supplies. I realize I’m just staring at it.

“Nah, we’ve got a mission to do,” I say. “Hey, Riles, Walk—you settled?”

“_Yeah, just as soon as I make Jack put on his Magic Pass_,” Riley says.

“_I’ve already got my cuff. I do not need another one, let alone a bright blue one_!”

“Stop fighting, you two. It’s only five—you wanna head over and case some of the park?”

“_Give me ten minutes to transfer a program over to my phone. I can run facial recognition and I’ll have access to all of Disney’s computer systems_.”

“All?” I say. “You know, those rides are run by computers."

Riley chuckles. It sends a shiver down my spine. “_Yeah, AJ. All of the systems. Good thing we’re the good guys, right?”_

“Sometimes I wonder about us,” I say.

_'I’m goin’ dark on the comms. We’ll reactivate when we’re headed your way. We're across the courtyard from you.”_

Mac fusses with his hair briefly in the mirror. It’s the first I’ve ever seen him do that, like he’s nervous about something. He stops, his left hand giving him pause. The ring catches his eye. It catches mine too.

“You ever been to Disney World?” I ask.

“No, actually. I’ve never been to Disneyland, either. I’m just not sure what the draw is.”

“Fun, Mac. Fun is the draw.”

“Have you?”

“A long time ago,” I say, gathering up some of my weaponry. It’s not just a fashion statement—I can wear my ankle holster in my combat boots. Not the best look with shorts, but I can pull it off. I need the weaponry, if I have to wear this "Bride" shirt.

“You know they’re going to have metal detectors,” he says.

“We have a hacker,” I say, slipping my butterfly knife into my pocket. “If you’re worried, let me carry your Swiss Army knife.”

He glares at me for a second, then tosses it to me.

“See? Trust your wife.”

Mac starts to chuckle. “You know she knows.”

“Who, Matty? Oh, she totally knows. Should we be worried?”

“I think this is her way of giving us her blessing, to be honest,” Mac says. “She’ll never say it out loud. She’ll only say ‘I can neither confirm nor deny’….”

I fix my hair, slipping it back up into a ponytail. “Considering this whole mission… where the fuck did that proposal come from?”

“Now that’s a conversation for another day,” he says, evading me and slipping to the door. His only consolation is Riley’s voice coming through the comms.

_“Headed to you.”_

He’s escaped it this time.

* * *

“Told you she could hack the metal detectors,” I say as we walk down Main Street, USA. The lights are intoxicating. Even Mac is distracted when I hand him his knife back.

Jack, on the other hand, is losing his shit. I should have expected it, really; the asshole can barely contain himself as he whispers expletives under his breath.

“AJ, give me your phone,” Riley says, and I hand it to her without questioning it. “I’m going to link your phone to mine, so any photo you take will automatically go through facial recognition,” she explains. “So, take as many selfies as you want.”

“Hashtag, just married?” I offer, and she laughs as Jack and Mac continue walking faster, all the way down to the statue and inevitably, Cinderella’s Castle.

“You know I know, right?” She starts.

“I know you know. I figured you would. We’re not being very subtle about it.”

“You’re fine. From what I understand, Matty’s cool with it. As long as it doesn’t negatively affect your missions.”

“If we weren’t friends, I don’t think this team would work as well as it does,” I confess. “It’s been a very, very long time since I’ve been on a team. Even if it’s temporary.”

“Maybe it doesn’t have to be. Maybe they’ll bring you on for stuff like this.”

“Oh, like when Mac needs a fake wife?”

She smiles again, watching the two assholes run ahead. Jack bounces into Mac, throwing him off course. I can hear him laughing out loud from here. “It’s good for him. He needs it. He’s been around the world, looking for his dad, and he needs someone like you.”

“Someone like me?”

“He doesn’t have to lie to you. You get it. You know the job, and the shit that comes with it. And you don’t judge him for it. He’s got his life, and you’ve got yours, but you still have all that history.”

“I never thought we would ever see each other again,” I confess. “Not… not like this.”

“I know I’m grateful,” she says. “That fake proposal sounded pretty real.”

“Yeah. Yeah, it did, didn’t it?” I sigh.

“How long?”

“Since we first kissed? Uh… his birthday.”

“What!? AJ… are you guys together, together? How long?”

“I guess maybe a month. I don’t know, Riles. I’ll update you when I have labels for it, alright? Hey—don’t tell Jack. At least, not until we talk to him about it. It’s probably time to come clean, anyway.”

“Affirmative. At any rate, we should probably talk about the mission.”

“I mean, what else can we do besides search the park's cameras and our own facial rec?”

“That’s pretty much it,” she shrugs. “But we’re going to have to be very, very thorough.”

“You mean like, riding each and every ride?”

“As many as possible, I think,” she grins.

“You got access to the FastPass system on that thing?”

“It’s like you know me.”

“Let’s go make use of it, then—Mac! Walk!” They knock into each other again turning back to us. “Bang a u-ie—we’re slippin’ through Liberty Square.”

“How do you know where we are?” Riley says, pulling up a map.

“She probably looked at the map once and memorized it,” Jack says, falling into step with us. “That’s what she does.”

I tap my temple. “Computer.”

“It's a Small World!” Jack gasps. “Can we go? Please?”

Riley holds up her finger for him to wait, taps a few things into her phone, and then points to the Fastpass line.

“I’m taking you everywhere I go,” I say, linking my arm with hers. "You're mine now."

* * *

After riding "It's a Small World" and dinner at the Liberty Tree Tavern—in the Paul Revere Room, I might add—we continue our sweep of the perimeter. Also known as watching Jack lose his shit over Disney rides. I don't even think he's focused on this op. It's like seeing a child, running through an ultimate playground.

We weave through Frontierland and I clock another undercover security officer in his black polo and khaki pants. Riley logs him in our database just in case we need him for later.

But suddenly, Jack stops, and he's looking smugly at the nearest building.

"It's time. You and me, Thea. Mano a mano."

I glance over. It's the Frontierland Shootin' Arcade.

"You got this?" I say to Riley. She just nods.

"Mac and I will keep watch. He and I need to have a little chat anyway."

"Uh oh," he says. "I hope it's not a bad chat."

"What's this I hear about you and AJ?" I hear Riley ask Mac as Jack and I sprint towards the arcade.

"I'm gonna smoke you," Jack says under his breath, turning in his coins for his shot at the title. I don't start trash talking. It's not going to end well if I do that.

"So, uh. Mac and I had a chat," he begins, aiming his rifle at the infrared targets. I shoot four shots before I respond.

"About what, exactly?"

"This whole op, didn't really need that much undercover work, now did it?"

"I'm afraid you might be right."

"So why exactly did Matty decide to make you both go undercover as a married couple?"

"I don't know," I say, stealing a few of Jack's shots. "You tell me what you think you know."

"Please, don't tell me I'm wrong. I'm beggin' ya. Are you guys finally together?"

"Why do you say finally, like you've been waiting for this all along?"

He actually sets down his rifle. "So it's true? You really are together?"

"I mean, we've never actually called it anything. So I don't know what it is. But ever since his birthday, we've just been... racing towards this conclusion, you know?"

He picks up his gun again. "You're good for him. He's good for you. He needs someone, after all this drama with… well, Nikki. And his dad, and Murdoc. He's only got us, you know."

“And I’ve only got you guys,” I say, nearly under my breath. I look over my shoulder. Riley and Mac are looking at us. I can't help but smile.

"I'm beating you, you know," Jack says. I set down my rifle.

"Walk, you can take the rest of my shots," I say. "I'm glad you both know. Makes things a little easier."

"Hey, just..." he stops me with a hand on my arm. "I love you, and I know I don't have to tell you this. I know. But... don't break his heart. Not like Nikki did."

"I've wanted this for so long, you know I wouldn't."

* * *

I slow down as we walk, and eventually, Mac looks over his shoulder for me. I tap my comms off, and I see Mac does, too. Riley must have gotten an alert, but she looks over her shoulder, sees us, grins slyly, and keeps moving.

“So. How are you doing?”

“As missions go, this one’s been pretty wicked,” I say. “I can’t complain.”

“So you talked to Jack,” he says.

“I did.”

“He told me although he loved me, he would destroy me if I broke your heart,” he chuckles.

“Funny, he basically said the same thing to me.”

“Good to know he’s consistent.”

There's a loud explosion over our heads. Mac jumps, but I don't. When we look up, we see fading fireworks.

"Sometimes, I forget you were in Delta, and then there are moments like that."

"What, the loud noises? Jack's the same way," I explain. "Old training doesn't go away. It maybe fades a little, but it doesn't die."

We keep walking. I look up to see the bright fireworks overhead, until Mac clears his throat.

“The stuff I said before. On the plane, you know… the, uh—the fake proposal?” I know he’s not lying because he stuttering. My heart jumps. He slips his hand into mine. “I meant it. I didn’t have to make it up.”

I let the tears well in my eyes, thinking about each word he had said before. “I know. I could tell. It... it was really, really nice to hear it.”

“I just wanted to clear that up for you,” He says, still holding my hand. The fireworks still go off over our heads. “I mean—”

“Oh, shut up.” I pull him into me, kissing him, doing what he’s done to me countless times. I realize just how ridiculous this entire situation seems to be. But I’m okay with it, and he seems to be, too, as he laughs. It makes me laugh. I’m okay with the ridiculousness, the pain, the suffering, the agony, the healing. It brought me back to him.


	13. Gorgonophonos: Monster-slayer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Deep in an op that feels more and more like a vacation, the team searches Disney for the mark. When AJ gets a text from an unknown source, they break the case wide open. But who texted her?

_Walt Disney World, Orlando, FL  
_ **Next Day**

I hear banging on the door and although I reach for my gun on the nightstand, I hear Jack's voice outside.

"Wake up! Wake up!"

I groan, pulling the blanket closer. I don't really want to wake up. I'm comfortable here. That seems to be the consensus, because Mac pulls me closer to him.

"Alright, I really hope you're clothed, because we're comin' in," Riley says.

"It's gonna take her about two seconds to hack that," Mac grumbles, his voice still hoarse with sleep. We both had crashed hard last night, so Jack’s forceful language was more jarring than usual.

"Don't expect me to get up to let them in," I respond.

The door clicks.

"Told you," Mac says, seemingly tunneling into his pillow as the dawn light streams through the window and now open door.

"Aww, how precious, wake up!" Jack says like a bipolar drill sergeant.

"Do you want to wake up everyone on their vacation?" Mac grumbles. "It's seven a.m."

"Magic Kingdom opens up at seven for the people with the bands, so let's go!"

I finally open my eyes again and glare at the two of them. They're already dressed and ready to go, with what appears to be breakfast in tow. I finally feel Mac leave, and he mumbles something about taking a shower, so I sit up and do the sensible thing and make Riley bring me breakfast in bed.

"So, what's the plan?"

"We figured you'd have one," Jack says, nursing his coffee.

I blink away the sleep, rubbing my eyes. "Alright. We've got a lot of ground to cover to find this guy, and we've got facial recognition for all of it. The most we can do at first is find the guy. But there's how many parks? And resorts? We're just going to have to methodically search. Maybe it's time to split up."

"Riley and I can take Epcot, you and your hubby can take Magic Kingdom."

I flip off Jack as I shove as much of my French toast in my mouth as possible. "Sounds like a plan. My suggestion is to go as methodically as possible, searching every building and if you can, every ride. I mean, what better way is there? We'll have access through comms, but I would suggest at least muting your transmission unless needed. Otherwise, it's just going to get weird through the crossfire."

"Understandable," Riley says. "What happens if we spot him?"

"Let the other team know to get their asses over as soon as possible, and tail him. If we can apprehend, I would say do so, but I'm not going to confidently encourage it unless we're all together."

"You're the tactical brain," Jack says, checking his weapon.

"Oh, you're going to need this," Riley says, tossing me what looks like a burner phone. "Use the FastPass app to get onto any of the rides you want, and the red button will get you through security with all your weapons. I also rigged something up with our gear." She hands me a pair of black rimmed glasses. "The camera inside is connected to my facial recognition system."

"I'll give these to Mac when he's out," I say. "Technology isn't my favorite thing."

"Good call," Riley confirms. "You know what you're wearing today?"

"Fuck, I forgot. Why the hell do we have to do this? You don't."

"You know why," Riley says, smirking.

"Yeah, well, I hate that," I grumble, finally getting out of bed and heading for our suitcases. Each outfit is fucking marked. I hate Bozer and Jill so much right now—wait.

"You just gasped. Did you find something good?"

I pull out what looks like a normal outfit for Mac: khakis, boots, button down forest green shirt. He can't be that upset. I've got a robin's egg blue dress—a little less my style, but I can handle it—with a pink belt and light tan boots. I also have a blue crystal necklace.

"Mac's gonna wear those glasses, and it'll be perfect."

"Mac's gonna do what now?" He says, peeking out of the bathroom.

"Atlantis!" I exclaim, gesturing towards the costumes. He looks a little more enthused than he did before. It might be my own excitement. I'm okay with that.

* * *

"I'm slightly concerned about how much weaponry you've managed to sneak in to this place," Mac says.

"You just gotta get creative. Colt 1911, two clips, thigh holster. Colt Defender, tucked into my right boot. Tactical knife, throwing knife, in my left boot, Balisong tucked in my dress."

"I swear, you're worse than Jack."

"Gotta be prepared."

"Usually I'm the one saying that,” Mac says. The glasses make him look exceptionally more nerdy that usual, but it works. It makes me smile.

"Well, I did issue orders for today—"

"Jack and Riley told me. They're combing Epcot. We've got the Magic Kingdom."

"I always say cheat right, so, lead the way."

It's not long before we make it into Tomorrowland, and Mac's focus goes from operative mode to child mode.

"Space Mountain!"

"Nope."

He walks backwards while talking to me. "You said it yourself, we have to comb the place. Every building, every ride."

"Mac, no."

A smirk starts to blossom across his face. "Are you telling me... you don't like roller coasters?"

"I hate them. Immensely. You have to have brain damage to like that kind of thing."

"You've parachuted out of planes."

"You are correct. And you said you never understood the draw of Disney World!”

"Babe, come on. It’ll be fine.”

I stop in my tracks at the pet name, and it gives him plenty of time to grasp my hand and pull me toward the line. I pull out my phone and do what Riley told me to get us through on the FastPass, and we’re weaving through the metal lanes before I can stop him. There’s plenty of innocuous space themed decorations, which is fine, it’s all fine, until we’re getting into the cars.

Babe. He called me babe. Why does this make me so sick to my stomach?

“I can’t even sit next to you?”

“Get into the damn car.”

"I hate you," I mutter, clutching tightly to the roller coaster car in the dark. The clicking noise as we go up just increases my anxiety. "I hate this. I hate all of this."

All I see is darkness and all I can hear is my own screaming.

* * *

I clutch to Mac as we struggle off. Well, I struggle off. He can’t stop laughing.

“I really hate you. My God, I hate you.”

“No, you don’t,” he scoffs, but there’s a beeping at our comms.

_“Hey, guys, can you check a lead over in Frontierland for us?” _Riley says. _“We think we got a visual on cameras around the Railroad.”_

“Copy that,” Mac says, tapping his ear. “We’ll let you know if we see anything.”

“_Report back, and we’ll be over if you make contact,”_ Riley says. Another beep, and they’re gone.

“You good?” Mac asks. I take a few deep breaths to try to get rid of the feeling, and then I’m good.

“Yeah, let’s just find this asshole so I don’t have to ride any more roller coasters.”

“That’s unlikely.”

“Never tell me the odds.”

* * *

“Nothing. What the hell is this guy doing? A disappearing act?” Riley says as we meet up outside the Haunted Mansion. She had thought they had a positive ID, but he was gone when we all convene on his location. By the time we meet up, the sun is already setting. Once night falls, I’m not sure we’re going to find him.

“I don’t know,” I say. I’m out of breath. My ribs still hurt a little, and I expect it’s from exertion. “Something tells me this guy has an endgame. He’s not just here to fuck about.”

“What makes you say that?” Jack asks. We close up the circle. Mac stands unnecessarily close to me.

“He’s bouncing from ride to ride with no sense of direction,” I say. “Like he’s looking for something, or clocking something. Do you think he made us?”

Riley checks her phone. “I can’t be sure. You think he’s evading us?”

“How the hell would he know we were coming?” Jack asks.

My own phone starts to buzz. I check it. It’s a text from a number I don’t have. “What the hell is this?”

I show it to the group.

“Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who’s the fairest of them all?” Mac reads. The blood drains from his face.

“You know who this sounds like…” Riley murmurs.

“Why would Murdoc be texting AJ? There’s no reason for him to know who she is,” Jack says. He’s suddenly defensive.

“Murdoc?” I scoff. “Can you trace it? I guarantee you it’s our guy.”

“Then what the hell is this riddle all about?” Jack asks. “Some Snow White bullshit?”

I turn to Mac. I realize he’s got a look of recognition on his face.

“You got it?” I ask.

“I got it.”

We both start running towards Cinderella’s Castle.

“Wait, I thought Snow White’s stuff was that way—” Riley tries.

“She’s not there!” Mac says over his shoulder.

“She’s at the Castle for the dinner,” I explain. “Whatever this guy plans to do, he’s gonna do it in the Castle.”

We start running as fast as we can go.

“I hate it when you make me run and hack at the same time!” Riley calls out as we try to make it to the nearest entrance of the castle.

“Do you need to be hacking right now?” I ask, pointing Mac in the right direction.

“If you don’t want to be stopped by security, I do!”

“Looks like that won’t be a problem,” I say. We come up on a back entrance, and three men are stacked, slumped, against the fence. Jack checks their pulses.

“Unconscious,” he confirms. Still, we use the employee entrance and start our way through the interior of the castle.

“Are you sure he’s gonna be here?” Jack says. “Are we sure this dude’s an electrical engineer?”

Mac and I both emphatically say “yes” in unison as we slip up a curving staircase. The decor is so ostentatious, it’s distracting. Until the sound of a silenced gunshot pings off the wall over our heads.

I instinctively shield Riley as I pull my gun from my boot. I hand it to her, then relinquish my other from my thigh holster. “This is why I wanted the weapons!” I say to no one in particular. Mostly to myself.

Mac throws himself up the stairs, leaving us in the dust. I quickly follow after, knowing he’s not going to have a gun, and by God, I am not going to leave him unprotected.

We weave through a hallway and past a maintenance closet. The balcony leads to the restaurant below, but I don’t see the guy who just shot at us. Although I don’t know where the hell we are, this place functions like a 1990s video game: there’s only one pathway, and it’s towards the enemy.

We turn a corner and Mac flings himself towards a door. It’s bolted shut.

“We need to get through. He went this way.”

“Well, good thing we know this is the only way up or down,” Jack says. “Step aside, let me have a crack at it.”

Mac looks around the room. We’ve reached some sort of tower, and there’s a door on the other side. I run over—the door is barely bolted. I unbolt it and crack it open. I realize where we are—the tallest tower of the castle.

“Hey, Mac? I have an idea, but none of us are gonna like it. The tower up there is open air. We can climb up.”

“I hate heights,” Mac mutters under his breath. He seems to do some sort of math in his head, then heads out the other direction.

“He’s doin’ the thing, isn’t he?” I say to Jack, who checks his gun.

“Yeah, give him about five seconds.”

I count in my head, four, three, two—

Mac returns, grasping what looks like two wrenches tied together. “Riles, you and Jack bust through that door.” He heads towards the window, and I join him.

"No, you're not coming," he begins.

"Like hell I'm not."

"You're not at 100 percent," he says, trying to concentrate.

"Like hell I'm not," I say. He spends a valuable second looking to me, and decides quickly it's not worth the fight.

In the dark, the whole castle is lit. We’re definitely going to be seen, but that’s beside the point.

Mac tosses the grappling hook up, and he doesn’t quite make it. It’s entirely too high, but he winds back and tries again. This time, it grasps onto part of the upper balcony.

“Don’t look down,” he says as I jump up onto the rope. I get as much leverage as possible from that initial move, and start climbing hand over hand. Although I’m not too sure his little DIY stunt is going to work, I stop thinking that the moment I toss myself over the railing. He’s not far behind me, and our perp is waiting. I’ve got my gun on him as soon as he draws his. It looks like a bell tower. I didn’t know the details were so… well, detailed, this far up.

“Drop it.”

“You drop it.”

“Listen, man, this is going to be a wicked boring conversation if we just repeat each other,” I say. Mac joins me, and our perp points the gun at him.

“Then I’ll shoot him.”

He’s got something else in his hand. I’m not sure what it is, but Mac seems to.

“If I put down my gun, can we talk?” I say. He nods. There’s something off about this guy, but I do what I said, keeping my hands up.

“What designs did you steal?” Mac asks quizzically. “It’s not a bomb. You’re not a bomb maker, you’re an electrical engineer.”

“Handheld EMP,” he says, then shuts his mouth, like he shouldn’t be bringing it up. Like he’s been told to shut his mouth.

“Isn’t that impossible?” I ask.

“A small one? Not at all. But this is new tech. One like this could take out….”

“An entire amusement park?” I suggest, stepping to the side opposite Mac. Langley follows me and ignores Mac.

“Exactly that. Listen, Langley, or whatever your name is, you’re cornered. You’ve got no options,” I continue. “Give us the EMP and you’ll… go to jail for the rest of your life.”

He seems to consider the options. I’ve never met a baddy who would.

“Who put you up to this?” I ask sharply. I follow Mac’s lead; he nearly behind him. He’s not watching, he’s distracted by me. “Who got you to do this?”

“I don’t know his name,” he confesses. “But I’ve built two.”

“Where’s the other?”

“On its way to a sale to North Korea,” he says. “But my employer wanted to test the other one here.”

“Why?” I inch closer to him.

“The happiest place on Earth, I guess,” he says. He really sucks at being a bad guy. I rear back, punching him in the face. The EMP drops, and Mac catches it. He’s on the ground before he can even function, and although he lets off a shot, it goes off into the air. I smash his gun hand against the ground, and the gun goes sliding as I pin him and then for good measure, give him another solid left hook to the jaw. He’s out before I breathe again.

“Damn, you kids are good,” Jack says, giving Riley a much needed high five. They finally got through the asshole’s barricades.

He’s right. Mac and I do make a damn good team, albeit a little reckless. Even I don’t want to look out the windows.

* * *

"There’s not even any property damage, and I'd say we beat a recovery record on this one," I say on the speakerphone to Matty. We turned the traitor over to the FBI, and the security team cleared us, so we were on the outs at this point.

"Matty, what are our orders now?"

"_Exfil in four hours_," she says.

"Why so long?" I ask, but Jack shoves me for asking.

_"Honestly, Harper, I didn't think you guys could get it done so quickly, and I don't have any teams in the area. Just get there on time."_

She hangs up, and Jack pumps his fist. "Let's go!"

"I'm hungry—" I start to say, but Jack starts pulling me along.

"We can eat on the plane, we gotta get in a few rides before we blow this popsicle stand!"

Mac, though, seems to step in. "Why don't you guys go ahead. I'll go with AJ to get some food."

"That's your prerogative, hoss," Jack says, grabbing for Riley. She doesn't seem to mind at all. I don't mind, either, when it ends up being just Mac and I.

Instead, he starts directing me towards another area of the park: I see a place called Columbia Harbour House. When we get inside, it reminds me of Union Oyster House. It reminds me of Boston. Even the slight smell of seafood permeates the memories I had shoved down into my subconscious.

We don't speak as we get our seats, but I notice Mac's eyes on my hands as I look at the menu.

“You like having the ring on your finger.”

I glance at my left hand. I realize I hadn't taken off the ring yet. Besides, my knuckles were still a bit swollen from punching.

"I didn't want to lose it," I say.

He just glares at me knowingly.

I roll my eyes. “Okay, maybe a little.”

After we order, I find myself looking around the restaurant, taking in all the nautical themes. After a while, I feel Mac's eyes on me.

"What are you thinking about?"

“There was this place back home,” I say. “Kipo's. It was in high school. We would go there after school all the time, do our homework in the booths until they kicked us out. We would go there after a baseball game or a football game. Before we would start vandalizing shit. I mean, it was the Town. I had my first kiss in that place. People don’t do that anymore, do they? It used to be so easy. Now we have to… to save each other from certain death in countries we’re not supposed to be in to fall in love.”

I don't think he's expecting that much detail, but he leans forward, almost seemingly wanting more. He reaches out and takes my hand, running his fingers over my knuckles. I cringe a little.

"Did you break some knuckles on that guy's face?" He whispers.

"Probably."

"Harps—"

"I'm not too concerned about it."

Regardless, he keeps my hand, his fingers running over mine. When the waitress returns, she grins, almost maniacally.

“So how long have you been married?” She asks.

“Oh, we’re—” I start to correct, but then I look down. Mac’s still wearing his ring, too. Neither of us took them off.

“A couple of days, actually,” Mac says, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. “We’re on our honeymoon.”

She is immediately enthralled. Of course, she is. She works at Disney and isn’t wearing a ring herself. She still believes in miracles. “How did he ask?!”

I bite my lip. I’m smiling, even though it never actually happened. I’m to the point now where it feels like it did. “I’m originally from Boston. We, uh, we did the Freedom Trail, because he’s never been, and he’s a complete nerd; we had dinner, and, well, I thought we were sneaking onto one of the boats stationed where the Boston Tea Party happened, but he definitely let them know we were coming, and he just… asked.”

I glance to him. He’s smirking. We both know it’s a lie. But it’s a damn good one.

“Where was the wedding?” She asks. This is a detail we never discussed, I realize.

“We’re from LA,” he begins, and I’m settling in for this one. I’m curious to see what he’s going to tell, since it’s all new to me, too. “Neither of us have a lot of family, so, uh,” he stutters.

“We had a small wedding,” I begin. I don’t know where the words are coming from, but I’ve decided to take one out of Mac’s book and improvise. “Mostly our co-workers. But we had our ceremony and reception at the Griffith Observatory. Outside, by the statues at night. We had a gorgeous sunset. Simple, but it’s what we wanted.”

She’s beaming, and she indicates she’ll be right back, leaving Mac and I alone.

“Sorry, I improvised.”

Mac doesn’t say anything. He looks dumbfounded, and takes another drink of his beer.

“Is that… is that what you would want?”

“For what? Oh, the wedding? I’ve never… never actually thought about it until now. I… I, uh, thought about what you would want.”

His wide-eyed expression, his genuine surprise, is enough for me. I just slip my hand under his. He runs his thumb over my bruised knuckles.


	14. Oskuderkês: Keen-Eyed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the mission long over, the case is all but forgotten— except for the reality that Mac and AJ were finally official. Still, AJ finally knows what it feels like to have a support system, which she needs now that she’s cleared for duty.

_Hollywood Hills, LA  
_ **Late May**

I shift my weight in bed, pushing away the dream from my hazy memory. The sun starts streaming through the windows, but I realize why I actually woke up. Mac whimpers next to me in his sleep. He grasps tightly to his pillow, his brow furrowed. I know the feeling. I get the nightmares too.

I don’t touch him. Instead, I turn to him in bed.

“Mac,” I say quietly. “Mac, you’re having a nightmare. You need to wake up. Mac, it’s AJ. I’m here. You’re dreaming.”

I fight the urge to touch him, because I don’t want to make it worse, but he shifts to his back and and whimpers again. I say his name louder, and he gasps awake, jolting, like was trying to pull himself out. He lays there, his chest heaving, until he closes his eyes tightly and rubs them with his palms.

“You okay?” I ask, and he sleepily glances to me. He just gives me a tired smirk.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I’m fine.” He draws in a sharp breath. “Did I…”

“I was already awake,” I lie, but I know he sees right through it. He doesn’t call me out. Instead, he turns on his side towards me, slipping his arm under his pillow again. Even after his nightmare, he manages to gaze at me, smiling, like it faded away with the sunlight. He brushes some of my hair out of my eyes, and I shift my foot to his side.

“You playin’ footsie with me?” He mutters, like he doesn’t want to acknowledge the fact that we’re awake.

“Maybe.”

In retaliation, he encroaches upon my territory and pulls me into him, pressing his body against mine. I kiss him lightly, and he closes his eyes in contentment.

I know not to ask about the nightmares. I’m sure this isn’t going to be the last time. Instead, I nuzzle into him, ready to fall back asleep, but we both hear a noise from the kitchen.

“Oh, God, Bozer’s home,” he says, the fear seeping into his voice.

“Have you not told him yet?!” I accuse. He just shakes his head. “You are the worst,” I whisper, trying to extricate myself from his grip. He just holds me in place, but I hold up my finger to his face. “Listen here. He’s your best friend. Riles and Walker know.”

“But it’s Bozer,” he whines. “He’s gonna make a huge deal out of it.”

I squirm enough that he finally lets me out of bed. I decide my sleep shorts and Mac’s MIT shirt is good enough clothing, so I don’t change and start for his bedroom door.

“Babe, don’t—”

I raise my eyebrow at him as I turn the door handle. He groans loudly and rolls out of bed after me, but I move too fast for him and I’m already in the hallway.

“Heeey, Mac!” Bozer says, not looking up from whatever he was doing. “Guess what? It’s waffle day!”

Mac’s close behind me. “Hey, man, I thought you were working all night at Phoenix.”

“Got done early, thought I would make breakfa—AJ!”

I smile widely at him, pulling my hair up into a bun with the pencils I steal from the desk in the hall. “Good morning, Bozer.”

“Thank God!” He articulates, wielding a whisk as I slide onto one of the mismatched bar stools. “Took you long enough! How long has this been going on?”

“About two… two months?” Mac says, scratching his head.

“So, about the time AJ’s been back, right? Mmhmm. Thought so. Why didn’t you tell me?”

While Bozer whisks, I point to Mac, and I realize Mac’s pointing at me.

“I see how it is. I’m out for two weeks, and all hell breaks loose. When were you gonna tell me?”

“As soon as Mac decided to,” I say quickly. Mac nudges me hard enough that I almost fall off the stool.

“That’s cool, that’s cool. I basically already knew,” Bozer confesses, setting a waffle plate in front of each of us and then one for himself.

“You definitely already knew,” Mac says. “How did you know to make enough waffles?”

Bozer glances at me. I try not to glance at him, but Mac’s jaw drops.

“You two are colluding! He knew, and you told him!”

I shove waffle in my mouth, and Bozer immediately does the same.

“How long did you know? Boze, when did she tell you?”

He finally chews long enough to respond, but he just pours me a cup of coffee instead, putting a bit of cream and two sugars inside.

“Hey, B, can you teach me how to cook sometime?”

“Absolutely, my goddess,” He glares at Mac when I take the coffee, and Mac glares at me while I drink.

“Oh my God,” Mac just says under his breath. “Are you friends now?”

“Hey, you go off on missions, and I’m left here, all alone. Sometimes I need human interaction, you know,” I say.

“She gave me her blood. I owe her a Wookie life debt.”

“We’ve talked about this. No Wookie life debts. Just your firstborn daughter named after me.”

“Athena Bozer has a great ring to it.”

Mac groans. “Oh, sure, he knows your real name in what, two months? It took me eight years!”

I clink my coffee mug against Bozer’s. Mac just sinks into the seat next to me, resting his head in his hands.

* * *

_Venice Beach, LA  
_ **Early June**

May flies by, and before I know it, we’re deep in tourist season and baseball season. Mac and Jack return just to disappear. It’s fleeting, it’s sad, but it’s wonderful. I have a bit of a life. I have friends. I have Riley for now, who’s listening to me rant like a trooper.

“It freaks me out, to be fair. I mean, I know he’s fine without you, but sometimes Walk goes a little too far, and I’d rather have someone like you watching their back.”

“Get out of your head, AJ,” Riley says, linking arms with me as we walk down Center Street. “You’re still worried about him.”

“I’m worried about them both,” I admit, as we slip into the restaurant and get a table. “I’m worried about all the boys. What is it with these boys?”

Riley’s eyes grow wide for a moment while she starts to giggle, until I shut her up by sliding her the drink menu.

“What are you getting? There’s too many choices,” she says, paging through.

“Well, depends on your mood,” I say. “If you want something heavy and seriously alcoholic, I’d go with Johnnie Walker. If you want to not taste the alcohol when it goes down, bellini, mojito, or sangria.”

She points at part of the menu. “We can get a pitcher of sangria, though.”

“I like the way you think.”

After we order spinach and artichoke dip and a truckload of seafood and chocolate soufflé for dessert, it’s not long before the conversation gets deep. And I’m strangely fine with it.

“I’ve never really had a good girlfriend,” Riley says flat out.

“Well, join the club,” I say, lifting my glass until she clinks hers against mine. “To the Not Girly Enough to have a Girl Best Friend Club.”

“Could be catchier.”

“It’s the best I’ve got right now.”

“Good enough,” she says, and we chug what’s left in our glasses. “So, uh, you and Mac.”

“What about me and Mac?”

“I like it. A lot. Makes me believe in love for once.”

“I don’t know if it’s love, but it’s something.”

“I haven’t seen him this happy in a while,” she confesses. “He’s had a rough year.”

“I can relate,” I say, sipping on my fresh drink. I can still see the scars on my wrists from the handcuffs.

She sighs. "Yeah, me too."

"What's going on?" I ask. I can already see it in her face. She's concerned. She's confused. She doesn't want to bring it up, but can't help thinking about it. "What did you do wrong on a mission?"

"I hate that you can do that."

"We're best friends now," I say. "You can talk to me about it."

She waits a beat, looking at me, calculating the risk and the reward. "I hesitated. I should have—I should have shot someone, and I couldn't. And now that massive EMP is lost, and it's my fault."

"Hey. You can't get down on yourself for that." I know they had tracked the other one Langley had sold, but I didn’t realize they went after it already.

"But it's my fault."

"I'm not going to tell you it's not, because it is. But what you need to consider are the options. What is the Foundation doing to stop him? I'm sure they're looking for intel about this EMP's location. And as soon as they find it, you're going to be the ones to go after it. Yeah, you messed up. But you're not going to do it again. You learned from your mistake."

"That strangely makes me feel better," she says. "Seems like you've been through that a lot."

I nod. She’s right. “And still struggling. I’ve been so used to working solo, I don’t always know what my place is on a team. I’ve been every role on my own team for so long…”

“You’re the planner. You’re the mastermind. Sometimes, it’s terrifying not having a plan. I’m a fan of improvising, but…”

“I don’t know how you do it half the time,” I say.

“It’s hard when you’re depending on luck and whatever Mac’s got locked away in that mind of his.”

“Sometimes, it scares me too. But I get it. Ever since the whole situation with Thornton, I don’t really know what’s going on. I had my ongoing mission, and once Matty took over, it just stopped.”

“What were you working on?”

I take a long drink, and she immediately fills my glass again. “Ever since I came on in 2009, I had been hunting this international assassin. The CIA had files on him, but we never had a name or a face. In 2008, he assassinated a Mossad operative in Madrid. I tried to stop him in Dubai in 2010, but he got the damn human rights lawyer. 2012 was the CIA informant in Tokyo.”

I see the blood draining from her face. It may just be her sobering up a little.

“—liked to contact his targets before killing them, didn’t he?”

“How’d you know?”

She adjusts in her seat. “Suspect 218. It’s Murdoc.”

“What the fuck?” I say, louder than I should. “No one told me! I didn’t know—I never read the files—”

“When Thornton went down, so many things changed, it probably got lost,” Riley says. “I’m sorry we never told you.”

“I knew about Murdoc! I knew about his history from Mac—”

“Yeah. You were hunting him that entire time.”

I run my hand over my face. “Why the fuck did Thornton have me tracking down Murdoc?”

“Something to do with her being a traitor, maybe?” She harrumphs. I’m still in shock. I don’t know what it means, but I’m sure it means something.

* * *

_[classified]  
_ **Late July**

Matty summons me early the next morning to the office. I leave Mac sleep—he murmured something at me when I got up, but I didn’t dare disturb him on a rare day off—and by the time I make it to Phoenix, I’m hoping I know why I’m there.

Regardless, my focus is somewhere else. I have groceries to get and a baseball game to watch. My Red Sox were in LA, and I could feel their presence.

It’s the end of July, though. It’s time for my evaluation. I go through the gamut—cardio, firearms, mental acuity—It’s like training all over again. By the time I’m showering and changing out of the horrible gym clothes, Mac, Riley, Bozer, and Jack had made it in.

“I thought you all had a day off,” I say, nervously heading towards the war room.

“We did,” Bozer says. I give him a kiss on the cheek. “We’re checkin’ up on your situation.”

“All of you? Together? I didn’t realize I would have an audience.”

“You’re not going to have an audience,” Matty says. “Get your ass in here, Harper.”

“She just loves me so much,” I whisper to them as I walk backwards into the war room. She shuts the door behind her and I slip my hands behind my back.

“Figured you wouldn’t mind coming in on your day off,” she says, tapping on the windows. The four trying to listen in disappear.

“If it means I’m allowed back into the field, I’m perfectly fine with it, Matty.”

“Well, exceptional marks in all categories, as usual, but don’t get a big head.”

“I’m cleared?!”

“You’re cleared. Geez. You worry too much.”

“I love you, Matty. Don’t let anyone tell you differently.”

I head towards the door and she tsks. “Send Blondie in. I wanna talk to him.”

Once I head out the door, I call for him. “Mac. Your turn,” I say. He looks a little confused.

“What did she want?”

Shrugging, I make the non-committal ‘I don’t know’ noise. I realize Cage has joined the group. We haven’t talked much, but I don’t think we’ve needed to. There’s a mutual respect there.

“You’re cleared?” Jack asks excitedly.

“Finally!”

He slaps my hand and gives me a hug.

“I don’t know why you’re so excited to face your death every Friday, but yeah, I’m glad you’re back in, too,” Riley says. “Maybe with Matty, she’ll let us work together.”

“You think Mac’s in trouble?” Boze asks, immediately forcing me to turn around and check what he and Matty are talking about. He doesn’t look tense, but that could mean anything, as they meander out of the war room.

“Hey, Harper. You got plans for tonight?” Matty says loudly. Mac looks like he’s about to bust.

“Uh, kind of. Game’s on at seven. Why? Do we need to ship out?”

Matty rolls her eyes. “All business, this one? You do it, Blondie.”

He chuckles and hands me a small slip—a ticket—a ticket?! “What… this is the Diamond Field Box. Near the visitor’s dugout. Tonight. The Red Sox game.”

“Exactly.”

“Like, now?!”

“Yes, tonight, Harper,” Matty says, shooing us both out of the war room. “Go. Get out of here. Now.”

“What—I mean, how—why—who—”

“Stop asking questions and go!”

I’ve got vertigo, and before I can stumble through anything else, Mac pushes me towards the waiting group of Boze, Riley, Cage, and Jack.

“What’ve you got?” Jack says, already trying to read what was in my hand. I see Mac hold up five more. I can’t emotionally handle this right now.

“Angels game? Nice!” Bozer begins, but I glare at him. “Red Sox game. Sorry.”

“Meet at Thea’s in an hour and a half,” Jack says, “Matty also got us a reservation at Saint Archer Brewing Company? I’ll drive.”

Riley makes a point to look at me and try to get me to speak. “Hey. Hey, AJ, you good?”

I can’t even form words. All I can do is move my mouth. Mac takes me by the shoulders and starts ushering me towards the door.

“AJ, you gonna be able to drive—”

“I can drive. I can,” I say, giggling. “Well, unless you want to.”

Mac’s face splits into a wide grin. “You mean, the Bonnie?”

I toss him the keys behind my back and he catches them overhanded.

“This is too good of a day.”

* * *

“I’m proud of you,” I say, unlocking my apartment. “You didn’t disappoint me.”

“How would I have disappointed you?!” He says, shocked, as I run up my stairs immediately. He leans against the wall near the bottom, but I yell over the railing of my loft as I run to get changed.

“You drove it like you stole it!” I say, ripping off my shirt and finding my most prized possession: my vintage Red Sox, number 4 jersey. “Joe Cronin,” I muse. “Shortstop, too.”

I look down to Mac, his arms crossed tightly over his chest, a slight smirk on his face.

“What?”

“It’s nice to see you happy, that’s all.”

“You’re a romantic. Admit it.”

“I am. I try to be.”

I slip it on over my tank top, grab a hat, then glance down to Mac. He’s festive enough in a red and white plaid shirt, and the sleeves are rolled, dammit, but he’s not good enough. I grab a Red Sox hat.

“I feel like we’re going into enemy territory,” he says as I slide down the banister. In retaliation, I just force the hat onto his head.

“And that’s different from… when?”

“Good point,” he mutters, taking off the hat, fixing his hair, and slipping it back on. I keep feeling like I’m forgetting something, and I start up the stairs again. Mac holds out his arm and stops me.

“You’re flailing. Stop it.”

“I haven’t seen my boys in person in years, I need to look perfect—”

“You already look perfect.”

I lean up to kiss him. I’m about to pull away, but he slips his hands across my hips, forcing me up on my tiptoes, pushing him unintentionally against the wall. The only thing that makes me break is my hat, on his head, slipping upward awkwardly from our movements. He starts to laugh, and I do too, until I can’t stop. I don’t stop until Jack buzzes us to come down.

* * *

I have a one-track mind once we get to Angels Stadium, but they insist we should eat first, and we need to use the reservation that Matty inexplicably secured for us. Once we get our table, I still low key feel like I’m dead. We eat, and I’m ready to find our seats as soon as I can scramble to my feet.

It’s ridiculous. I can’t do this.

“We’re at the fucking wall,” I hear myself say. “We’re… we’re at the fucking wall, guys.”

“I’m warning y’all now,” Jack begins, “This is gonna get weird for all of you. I’m the only one that has seen this in action. Trust me. You’re gonna see a different side of her, possibly have a different view of her when this is over.”

“Only if they lose,” I say with a smirk. His smile falls. He knows what I mean.

I can barely focus through the Star-Spangled Banner and the first pitch. It’s only when Betts doubles to the center that I seem to wake up.

“That’s right, that’s right, keep it up, keep it up,” I mutter. Mac gives me a weird side look. I don’t care. They don’t speak, and I don’t blink.

It’s like I’m back at home. I finally feel like I’m healed, like I’m better, like I can move on.

“Benintendi, c’mon, you can do it, you can—“ Suddenly, I’m on my feet, leaning over the wall. “Run, dammit! Mookie, run!”

“Have you seen this before? Is this a common occurrence?” Cage asks.

“This is new to all of us,” Bozer says excitedly.

Betts scores Benintendi to second. I can handle this. I can. When Benintendi gets to home, I know it’s gonna be a great game. I settle down into my seat, and from somewhere, a Sam Adams slides into my hand.

Jack gives me a thumbs up. All of them eye me.

“What is this? What have you done? This is a bad idea,” I say, drinking about a third of it. It slides down my throat like life-giving elixir.

“I think it’s a great idea,” Mac says, settling into his seat. He slips his arm around the back of my seat, but he doesn’t really touch me. I lean forward, peering at the baseball diamond not far from where we sit.

The perfect temperature, the slight breeze, the clear night sky. I close my eyes and breathe in, and for a moment, it feels like home.

“It’s like watching an animal in their natural habitat,” Riley says, drinking something fruity looking out of a curly straw.

“It’s gonna get worse. Trust me,” Jack says, his voice low. He likes to pretend I can’t hear him. “We watched the World Series game, 2007. Game four, Red Sox and Rockies. They were up three games to zero and had one more to go.”

“What happened?” Bozer asks innocently. Moreland goes to third. I’m nearly standing again.

“What do you think happened?” Jack continues. “They were 4-3 by the ninth. Colorado struck out, and it was chaos.”

“Where were you?” Cage asks. Moreland’s trying to steal. Come on.

“The Sandbox,” Jack says. “Camp Victory. For days, she was singing ‘I’m Shipping Up to Boston’.”

“I would pay actual money to see that happen,” Mac says, but it doesn’t matter because—

“Moreland scores!” I yell, nearly spilling my beer as I jump to my feet.

“Don’t you dare spill that beer,” Jack says, chiding me for my quick movements. In retaliation, I chug it, tossing the empty large can back to Jack, who catches it, shaking his head.

“This is so bad,” Jack mutters. “We’ve created a monster.”

Mac just keeps chuckling. He can’t seem to stop. I glare at all of them as I sit back down and Bogaerts singles in a beautiful center hit.

“If this goes to Chelsea, I’m blamin’ it on you,” I say, fixing my hair so I can turn my hat around to can see better. They all have varying degrees of slight horror, confusion, or complete glee. I lean my elbows on my knees.

“I told you, it’s gonna get worse,” Jack whispers.

“I think it just got worse,” Riley says back.

“So, a member of her family was very into baseball when she was young,” I hear Cage say. “A parent. Probably her dad. She lost him, didn’t she?”

“2009,” Jack says. “That was his favorite jersey.”

I just hear a noise of recognition from Cage, but I ignore it, because the crowd about loses it again. We’re up 5 before the end of the top of the first inning. I want to cry in happiness.

I send Bozer, Riley, and Cage on a snack run, and they take it willingly. I lean back into my seat finally, and Mac harrumphs.

“What? What did I do?”

He just shakes his head. “Nothin’. You’re fine.”

“I did something to make them laugh,” I say, crossing my arms. “It better be a wicked good reason.”

“You seriously have no idea,” he says, shaking his head. “Just let it go. You’re perfectly fine.”

I glare at him until I have to turn my attention back to the game. He tilts my chin back to face him and places a kiss on my lips. I feel the blush rise in my cheeks.

“I’m gonna yell every time I see PDA,” Jack comments.

“In a good way or a bad way?” Mac asks.

“Haven’t decided yet.”

* * *

Top of the fourth, Bradley’s on base, and Holt singles so far to the left I’m convinced it’ll be a foul.

Third beer in, and I feel like a specimen. Riley eats her nachos, not looking at the game, but instead, at me. I’m on my feet, leaning over the wall.

“What the hell are ya doin’?” I yell. “First you go right, then you bang a feckin’ left three times, and ya make it back to where ya started!”

“Holy hell,” Bozer starts laughing.

“What? What the hell is goin’ on?” I snap after Bradley finally scores. We’re up six. “What is with ya treatin’ me like I’m an alien?”

Mac looks like he’s trying to start an intervention. “AJ. Athena—”

I point at him, and I know he’s trying to antagonize me. “Don’t start with me, Angus.”

“AJ. If you could hear yourself—”

I suddenly realize why they’re acting so weird. I slipped so deep into the accent I tried so hard to lose that I nearly became unintelligible.

“I knew you were from Boston, but I didn’t realize it was that bad,” Cage says. “She did really well getting rid of the accent.”

Mac peers at me with conviction. “What was that? ‘Bang a feckin’ left’? What exactly is a feckin’?”

I flip him off with an added bonus of the Italian salute.

* * *

By the seventh inning, we’re still up six. I’m about to be up six beers, because I send B, Cage, and Riles on another beer run during the seventh-inning stretch. I lean on the rail, stretching, taking in the heat, the haze of alcohol, the feel of almost being at home. A baseball game is like an embassy on foreign soil: I may not be back there, but it’s almost as good.

I hear the familiar tune of “Build Me Up, Buttercup” and hear Jack lightly singing. I glare at him.

“What have I told you?”

“That this is a Red Sox household and we only sing Neil Diamond,” Jack says obediently.

“Good. I’ll boot you if you sing another word.”

“What if I do?” Mac says, giving me a wink.

“Don’t test me, Angus.”

He grins at me, bopping along to the song. “And the worst of all, you never call, baby, when you say you will—”

“Don’t.”

“—but I love you still. I need you—”

Jack sings a bit out of key, but he sings the harmony. I sit down in my seat and cross my arms, looking out to the field. I try to stay stone faced, but it’s not working. I’m starting to laugh.

“—more than anyone, darlin’, you know that I have from the start, so build me up—”

“Build me up!”

“—buttercup, don’t break my heart!”

* * *

“Sweet Caroline! Ba ba baa! Good times never seemed so good!”

“Is she drunk?” Riles asks, but I just keep bouncing in the car.

“No. Really, she’s not. This is standard procedure. She’s going to be bouncing off the walls all night. The Boston haze will probably wear off in a day or so.”

“Six to two! Six to two!” I yell. My Red Sox win, I drown my feelings in Sam Adams, and I’m back on the job.

It’s a good thing Jack’s driving, especially since Cage left to go her way home, and Riles was in the front seat, leaving us in the back.

“I’m shippin’ up to Boston! Ohh!” I sing. I really can’t hear them. I’m about seven beers in, and I feel great. “I’m shippin’ off to find my wooden leg!”

“Can we leave her on the side of the road or something? She’s ridiculous. I can’t be seen with her,” Riley says, sounding serious but hiding her giggles from me.

“That’s the first game I’ve been to in years, let me have this!”

Regardless, Jack drops off Riley at her apartment first. She blows me a kiss. It’s not long before he makes it back to the marina, and I drag Mac out of the car with me, unbeknownst to him.

“Have fun, kids!” Jack yells out of his open window. By the time I make it back inside, I’m practically river dancing.

“I’m shippin’ up to Boston, I’m shippin’ off to find my wooden leg—” I say, bouncing through my apartment—

“Are you going to seriously be okay?!” Mac says, laughing.

“I’m the happiest I’ve been in years, Angus!”

“All over a baseball game?” He asks slyly.

I stop bouncing, I circumvent him to lock my door. “Yes, MacGyver. Over a baseball game. You don’t seem to mind. You have this strange obsession with baseball jerseys,” I say, stepping back from him as he moves towards me. We’re suddenly playing cat and mouse, and I’m strangely fine with it. I have just enough space between us for me to smack the brim of his hat and slide it down over his eyes.

“Really?”

“Really.”

I try to slip around him, but he quickly reaches out and catches me, bringing me back to him in a squeal-inducing embrace. He nearly picks me up, but I fight him; I could fight him harder, but he just pushes me back until I hit the wall. I flip his hat off his head and he just keeps grinning.

He cages me in, flattening his hands against either side of me against the wall, and kisses me until I can’t breathe. It’s still the good kind of can’t breathe, the happy kind, the overwhelming joy kind.


	15. Makhanitis: Contriver

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the first time in months, AJ is happy. But when her nemesis Kuznetsov, the man who tortured her in Siberia, is found to be doing business in Istanbul, they have to go. But she knows her vengeance is sweet on her tongue, and it makes her an easy target.

**[classified]  
** _Early August_

I continue punching. I don’t feel like stopping, even for the sound of the door opening to the gym. The more I punch, the better I feel. I don’t know when the next mission is going to be, and Matty could be sending me anywhere, so it’s better I’m prepared for anything.

One, two, punch, kick. I whirl, and Mac’s hand stops me.

“Oh. Hey. Didn’t realize it was you.”

”You left kind of fast this morning,” he says. “Didn’t know what was going on.”

“Just wanted to hit a few things. You know. The usual.” He starts to square up to me, and I raise my eyebrow at him. “You really wanna do this?”

“Why not? You really gonna—“

I swing for him, and he ducks. I try to kick his legs out from under him, but he side steps out of the way. He finally raises up his hands to defend himself.

“What, didn’t think I had it in me?”

“Oh, I definitely know you have it in you,” he says. “Didn’t ever think you would use it on me.”

“Why not?” I feign left, then go hard on the right. He blocks me, but I kick out his legs and he nearly falls, but manages to somersault away and hop back up to his feet. He comes at me, and I block him, throw my arm around his neck, drop to the floor and flip him over me.

“Ow?!” He says, scrambling to his feet.

“You’re not pullin’ punches because I’m your girlfriend, right?”

“Oh, is that what we’re calling it now?” I throw my fists at him again, but he catches them and nearly catches my jaw with a right hook. He tries me again with a haymaker, but I block him with a helmet block. I slip my hand around his neck, onto his head, and I get both my hands back there tight enough to push out and pull him into my knees. He drops low, like he's nearly breaking, but pushes out of my lock, grabs me around my waist and I'm looking at the ceiling.

“I mean, we might as well stop dancing around the inevitable,” he says, reaching out his hand to me. I lock my hand on his wrist, kick out hard and send him over my head before rolling to my feet. He skids a little.

“Yeah, I was wondering when we would finally put a name to it. It’s been what, five months? Might as well admit it to ourselves.”

I try to throw a punch, but he leans back. I’m not sure it’s good form, but I think he’s trying to make it so I don’t have to actually hit him.

So I feint a jab to his face, then slam my fist into his jaw. It’s enough to make him stagger. He circles me, just enough to make me uneasy, and starts in again. I block, he punches.

He gets behind me and gets me in a standing rear choke. My air cuts in half, but I react quickly: I step behind him, grab him around the hips, and fall backwards. He trips over my leg, so I somersault to get away from him and hop up onto my feet.

He blocks me. He starts with a haymaker, then I block him, and slip my hands around his neck. I get enough traction to pull him into my knees. I drop him, step back, and let him gasp for breath while on his hands and knees.

“You good?”

“Yeah, I’m good. I just can’t pinpoint your style,” he says, getting to his feet. I square up again. “Seriously? You’re not done?”

“Nope. You wanna know what my style is? All the guys in my life teaching me what they know so they don’t have to protect me when I get in my own fights. And a little bit of Townie back alley Fight Club.”

“I thought you didn’t talk about Fight Club.”

“Oh, we did. And we got busted by the cops my junior year.”

He just rolls his eyes. I take the distraction and use it. I throw a heavy punch and he immediately goes low and tosses me to the pad, getting on top of me. He lands one on the side of my jaw after pinning me to the ground, but I try to fight through it, get my hands around his back and flip him over before landing my own hits. All he can do is try to block his face, but I lose my balance and stop, using my hands to brace myself on either side of him. We both take the moment to breathe.

“Does this mean I win?” I ask, pulling my weight off my hands but still straddling him on the mat.

“I concede,” he groans. “I forget how brutal you are sometimes.”

“Fight to the death, baby,” I say, leaning back down and kissing him.

“Yeah, okay, that makes me feel better about losing.”

I get off of him, and help him get to his feet when I hear an Australian accent.

“Hey, lovebirds. Matty wants us in the war room in ten.”

I glance to Mac, and he just shrugs. I head off to the showers.

* * *

We all convene in the war room. Matty immediately launches into it.

“We’ve found Kuznetsov and our intel,” she begins. They pull up an image of dear old Vlad. I don’t cringe this time. This time, I want to punch him in the face. Or shoot him. Either is an option at this point. “He’s come out of hiding to sell the information they gleaned from the outpost Harper was trying to infiltrate. He won't be there, but he's sending an envoy."

“Where?” I ask. Coward. Won't even come himself.

“Turkey. Istanbul. We’ve set up a meet at a birthday party gala for the latest war criminal. Riley’s got your cover IDs in hand. Mac and Harps will be on as buyers. He’s agreed to our terms of $15 million. Jack, Riley, you’re Overwatch. Bozer, Cage, I want you in the plane as backup. We saw what happened last time we went after this guy, and we’re not going to have that happen again. Same old song and dance, folks. You get that intel back whether you have to buy it, kill him or steal it.”

“Apprehension or annihilation,” I quote Matty from months ago.

“Boys, pack your tuxes. This is a formal occasion. Harper, Riley; go down and find something to wear. You have forty-five minutes before wheels up. Oh, Harper?”

“Yes, Matty?”

“Find something that works with navy blue. You and Blondie should match.”

I step backwards towards Riley and the door, raising my eyebrow at her. She gives me a smirk. Mac’s right. She definitely knows.

At any rate, Riley and I tear off towards the costume room, find what we think are good enough dresses and accessories, find our go bags and have just enough time to join up with the boys on the plane.

Istanbul, Turkey. I can smell retribution already.

* * *

An hour before we land, we start to change. Due to the time change and the amount of time in flight, we’re slipping in tightly with the time frame: when we arrive, we need to drop our equipment off and immediately head to the gala auction.

I’ve let Riley have free rein over my hair. I’m not good enough to do it on my own, and all I have to do is tell her I want it out of my face before she launches into some sort of braid. When I start to do my makeup, I see she’s slipped it away into a crown braid and a messy bun.

“You had to go Grecian, didn’t you?”

“I’m not sorry,” she said, finishing straightening her hair as I pick out a natural look to my makeup. “Mac will like it.”

“Oh, stop,” I tease, finishing just as quickly as I start. “Matty totally knows.”

“She knows everything. She knew before you did, I guarantee it.”

“What do you mean?” I say, putting on my berry colored lipstick.

“She knew you two would end up together before you did. It was obvious, really. When you fought in the war room.”

“How the hell was my anger obvious?!” I start to change as she works on her makeup. We get a warning knock from Jack.

“For you to be that angry still, in our line of work? You always loved him. Why do you think Matty forced the confrontation?"

"What do you mean?"

"She totally made you have that argument when we were in the war room. Isn't that what made you start talking to Mac again in the first place?"

I scoff. I’m unsure, suddenly. I don’t know if it’s love, but I also don’t correct her. Maybe I showed it more than I thought. I always thought I was too proud, too good, to show it. Maybe that’s my fatal flaw.

She zips me up, and I check out my dress in the mirror: a light, steel grey dress with a sweetheart neckline and off the shoulder sleeves, with chiffon criss-crossing over my chest and meeting in the back at my natural waist. I paired it with a sapphire and diamond necklace and a pair of lace up flats. I accidentally resemble my namesake, for the first time in my life.

And much like a modern take of my namesake, I slip on my thigh holster, then my ankle holster, adjusting my dress around the hem. I load my knives in my other garter, much to Riley’s confusion.

“Just how much heat are you going to be carrying to this thing?”

“Uh, well, my tactical knife, throwing knife, and my Balisong,” I say, tucking the butterfly knife into the hidden pocket in my strapless bra, “Colt 1911, with two clips, on my thigh, Colt Defender— basically a mini 1911—on my leg. I wish I could come up with a way to carry a sniper rifle into an undercover op, but alas, I have yet to figure that out.”

“Jesus. Do you have enough?”

She turns around and I zip up her dress. “How much equipment do you bring into an op?”

“Alright, I get it.”

Her dress is stunning in a totally different way: black, mermaid style, with thin straps slipping into a plunging sweetheart neckline. The fabrics twist from her shoulders, leaving the sides cut out, where the designer has added a corset lace inlay.

“You’re stunning,” I say. “But I think you need one more thing.”

I reach into my bag and find my other butterfly knife.

“AJ—”

“Please. Take it. It’ll make me feel a little better.”

Riley rolls her eyes and slips it into her dress as well.

Another knock. “Hey, we’re gonna land.”

I open the door and Jack steps backwards, allowing the two of us to leave the tiny cabin.

“Damn, Walker, you always surprise me when you pull out a tux,” I say, giving him a kiss on the cheek. He grins. Cage gives me the once over as she puts her gun back together. I give her a wink, and she gives me a smirk.

If I didn’t have Mac, I would be changing her mind about fraternizing with co-workers.

Bozer lets out a low whistle. “Damn. Damn, you two. You look… dazzling.”

I blow a kiss to Boze. He feigns catching it. I turn to Mac, in his navy blue suit. It’s enough to make a girl swoon. His face is enough for me, though. His smirk, the slightly cocky smirk, falls a few pegs when he looks to me.

“Close your mouth, you’re drooling,” I say, slipping into the seat next to his. I adjust a little, making sure my weapons are situated correctly.

“You look…” He drifts, so I kiss him lightly.

“Thanks, Mac.”

“Hey, Thea—”

“Yes, Walk?” I ask, just smiling at Mac.

“You packin’ heat?”

“More than you realize,” I say. The mood is intoxicating, and Mac has to straighten in his seat, looking away from me, to focus. We both should focus. We’re on the mission now.

Once the plane lands, we get a car and it’s about a half hour drive to the hotel and event space. Immediately, I run a roll call on comms.

“Harper, check.”

“_Wow, it’s so nice to actually have a proper start to an op,” _Matty comments. “_Take notes, boys. Phoenix is on.”_

“_We hear you loud and clear,” _Cage says from the plane. “_Bozer is giving me a thumbs up.”_

“So, how’s this supposed to work?” Jack says, seemingly done with our checks as he drives through the horrible Turkish traffic.

“_Kuznetsov is sending a man to the meet,”_ Matty explains. “_He’s since gone into hiding, but what we’re really searching for is his intel. We can find him later.”_

_“_Have we determined what this intel is?” Mac asks. It’s a question I’ve been wanting the answer to this entire time, but hadn’t gotten a chance to ask. I never even knew when I went to Siberia. All I knew is it was important.

Matty just sighs. “_The intel is related to Murdoc and his connections to the Organization_,” she says. “_Personal information. Kill histories. His entire dossier. AJ went to Siberia for the biggest info dump on this asshole that we could find in one place.”_

I shift in my seat. This op just got a whole lot more important.

_“Mac, AJ—run point. You’re undercover as members of the Boston mobs. You want this information so you can hire him or blackmail him. It really doesn’t matter—you’re notorious for doing both. AJ, you’re Athena DiNunzio, daughter of the former boss of the Patriarca crime family, Boston faction and now reportedly the underboss to his brother. Mac, you’ll be playing the part of Jamie McLean, her lover & Boston Irish mob affiliate, trying to get into the good graces of her mob boss father. Riley, Jack, hang back. I want you on standby and support for right now. You know what to do.”_

“Improvise?” I offer, and Jack gives me a wink.

We get to the hotel. They take our equipment up to our suite, so Mac and I have time to case the space.

And the space is expansive. I thought this gala was supposed to be small, but at this point, there could be easily a thousand people here.

“So we wait? For him to come to us?”

“Apparently,” Mac says. He’s casing the joint, but not in an obvious way. Although we had never actually worked together, I feel like I’m easily falling into the casual undercover feel as I do with any other agent I’ve ever worked with. Well, frankly, it’s really only ever been Jack, but regardless, we find that rhythm quickly.

We sit at the bar and get drinks. It’s not like we’re going to actually be drinking them, but we need to blend.

“Walk, Riles, you make it down?”

_“South end of the ballroom,”_ Walk says. I gently look to the opposite end, and I see him walking arm in arm with Riley. It’s good he’s guiding her, too, because she’s typing wildly on her phone.

“_I’ve got visual on you both,”_ Riley confirms.

“Do we know what this guy is supposed to look like?” Mac whispers into his comms.

_“We don’t have a visual yet, but we’re looking,” _Matty says. “_Riley, do you have anything yet?”_

_“I have a potential coming in from the west, but I’m running a scan. He’s avoiding the cameras. He’s been trained.”_

We drift through the people, and Mac seemingly finds the super spy mother lode: the open dance floor. He spins me around, and I’m careful not to lose any of my weaponry in the process.

“You did this on purpose,” I say under my breath.

“Maybe a little,” He says, resting his hand on my waist and clasping his hand in mine. The music sweeps through the balcony party, and it catches my breath a little. The sun sets, casting colors and shadows over the water.

“This river is gorgeous,” I say, almost under my breath.

Mac clears his throat. “Actually, it’s a strait. Called the Bosphorus. It connects the Black Sea and the Sea of Marmara. It’s also the world’s narrowest strait for international navigation—”

“_You know, we usually cut him off by this point,”_ Bozer says.

“Why?” I whisper. “I was learning something, B.” I look up to Mac, and he mouths ‘sorry’ to me. I smile. So does he. He looks out over the river—the strait, I mean— his smile still infectious. I need to focus, and he’s not letting me.

We take the opportunity for silence, listening to the conversations around us for something useful, but we get nothing. Nothing except for each other. Which, I guess, is something.

“Have visual on that suspicious figure coming from the west,” Mac says, almost in my ear. He spins me around so I can see him as well. Definitely has the Russian jawline, but he disappears into the crowd.

_“He’s headed for the bar,”_ Jack says. Mac and I immediately stop dancing and meander our way in that direction.

By the time we get there, we see him. He’s unironically drinking straight vodka. I order a cocktail myself before he speaks.

“I expected you to be taller.”

I affect my old accent for consistency. “I expected someone more handsome, but we can’t always get what we want, can we?”

He harrumphs, turning to both of us. I sit down at the bar, crossing my ankles. With a swift movement, I can have a gun to his ribs.

“There has been a change of venue,” he says. I see Mac immediately straighten.

_“Don’t agree to it,_” Jack says. “_It’s a trap, Thea.”_

“I’m listening,” I say, ignoring his warnings. This guy could rabbit at any time, and I don’t want to give him any reason to. Mac looks at me with increasing intensity.

“I thought this was supposed to be the meet,” Mac says.

_“This isn’t what was agreed on,” _Matty says. “_Be careful. It’s your call.”_

I metaphorically push this KGB henchman. I’ve killed enough of them, and I’m ready to do it again. “What’s the issue, Boris? You don’t trust a Townie like me?”

He leans into me. Mac steps instinctively closer.

“You will meet at the Lounge, tomorrow morning at 9 a.m. Bring the money and we’ll have the intel. Just you.”

Mac goes to say something, but I cut him off. “Done. See you around, Boris.”

I slip off the barstool, and Mac’s already on my tail.

“AJ, you should have rescheduled. You should have changed the time or the meet—”

“I know what I’m doing. I’ve done this before,” I snap.

“Now they’ve got all the power and we’ve got nothing,” Mac hisses under his breath. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

I look out to the floor. I see a face. A face I know. I continue scanning. I know this entire thing isn’t right, and he’s just making it worse. “Hey, Ri, did any other faces pop up on our recognition scanner?”

_“Not yet, why—”_

I spot him. A face I didn’t think would be here today. I spot our guy speaking to another man, just off the dance floor.

Kuznetsov.

I tear off towards him. I think I hear Mac calling for me, but the blood pounds in my ears. I want him. I want him at gunpoint. He leaves, but I still have a visual on him.

_“AJ’s gone AWOL,” _I hear Riley say. _“I don’t know why, Matty. She just did.”_

Matty says something about catching up to me, but I still see him. He turns the corner, and soon, we’ll be alone, and I can take him down—

I get slammed against the wall, the wind almost knocked out of me. Mac stops me, pinning me against the stone, as I desperately try to wiggle my way out.

“Get out of my way.”

He glares at me, willing me to whisper if I’m going to complain. We both glance towards Kuznetsov. He starts to turn, to look, to see if he has a tail, but Mac immediately takes my breath away again by kissing me, hard, pushing me tightly against the wall. When he breaks the distraction, because that’s all it was, Kuznetsov is gone.

“Why the hell did you do that?!” I start. I’m practically seeing red right now as Mac takes me by the arm and starts dragging me back towards the main part of the hotel. “I could’ve had him!”  
“And then what would you have done?” Mac says. “Kidnapped him? Killed him? What’s more important, your retribution or the dossier on Murdoc?”

I bail, heading for the elevator to meet back up with Riley and Jack. We’re all silent in the elevator, and once we get to the suite on the second floor, Jack starts in.

“The hell were you thinkin’, Thea?”

“Kuznetsov was there. He was right there. He’s been here the entire time, but we didn’t clock him. Where was the intel on that? Hmm?” I pointedly look to Riley. She goes from slightly concerned to angry in a heartbeat.

“Why is that my fault? The facial recognition program isn’t perfect!”

“He was there! We could have had him!”

“And then what?” Mac says, shutting the door and locking it. “The mission is the dossier. Not him. We can get revenge on him later.”

“We? We?!” I sputter. My hands are shaking. I quickly hide them behind my back. “I don’t even remember how long that man tortured me. He could have killed me, but he chose to play with me instead. I want him to die. I would even give him a quick death, as long as I could do it myself. And all of you stopped me.” I didn’t think I would snap like this. This isn’t me. This is too emotional.

“Why is he here anyway?” Mac suggests. “Our intel said he was sending a proxy. And that’s why we set up the meeting we did. Matty, is there anything else we’re missing?”

_“Other than a little common sense from Athena, no.”_

“Dammit, Matty—”

“_Use your damn brain, Harper! They’re right, and you’re wrong! Don’t let your damn blind rage compromise getting the very thing you were willing to die over four months ago!”_

She’s right. Four months ago, I was ready to die over this, and I didn’t know what it was. But a lot has changed in the last four months. They’ve seemingly dropped my case, though, and have started talking about the meet tomorrow.

“Somethin’ about this ain’t right,” Jack immediately says. “Mac’s right. We should have renegotiated.”

“Renegotiated? Why? It would have just set him off,” I say. “We have plenty of time to case the place.”

Riley speaks up. “If you’re that worried, call Cage and Bozer for backup.”

“_We could be down in an hour.”_

“No,” I say to Cage on the comms. “Guys, we’re fine. If anything, we can use me as bait. If they want me, at least I have backup this time.”

“Jesus, Thea!” Jack says. “No, we can’t do that. Matty, don’t let her do that.”

_“Her op, her call.”_

“What?!” Jack’s voice goes all high and squeaky. “Nah, we’re not doin’ that.”

“You’re fine when Mac does it,” Riley says, defending me.

“Exactly! And Riley’s done it, too!”

“I don’t want you to be rusty,” Mac begins. “You’ve been out of the field for months—”

I step towards him. For the first time in a long time, I’m pissed at him again. It’s a comfortable feeling, one I’m used to, but I still hate it. “Really? Just how long have I been at this? I think I know what I’m doing.”

_“Alright, alright, stop fighting,”_ Cage says. “_There’s nothing we can do now except wait for morning, right? What’s done is done. Have faith in Harper. She has faith in herself._”

“Exactly,” I say, “I’m going dark.”

I turn off my comms, leaving the rest of them in the sitting room of our suite. I find my stuff, piled in the master suite, and immediately start ditching my jewelry. I can’t make out what they’re arguing about in the other room, but I can hear it. I really can’t bring myself to care.

My phone buzzes. I check it; it’s a text from Matty.

_I hope you know what you’re doing._

I text her back. _I’ve got this. You know I do._

_You’ve been alone too long, Harper. It doesn’t have to stay that way._

I don’t text her back.

Maybe she’s right. Maybe it’s time to face the music: go back to working alone, or figure out how to function as a team. I can’t keep going rogue. I’ve already done it twice this mission already. There won’t be a third time.

The arguing in the other room stops, and I’m just ready to get some sleep. I unlace my ballet flat, then switch, slipping my foot up onto the duvet and pulling my ankle holster off.

I hear Mac before I see him.

“You could have at least listened to me,” Mac says. I can tell he’s still pissy. I just unlace my other shoe. He turns off his comms with a touch to his ear.

“I did listen to you. But I also don’t want to blow this op. I understand your concern, but there’s six of us in this country, ready to take this guy down. I wanted to take this guy down. Now, I’m not willing to change this meeting place or time just because we’re jumpy. We can handle this. We all can.”

“I’m telling you, AJ. Something isn’t right, and I can’t have you going in—”

“Can’t have me? I’m going to do what I have to do, whether you like it or not,” I say. “Sorry, Mac, but if that’s the way it’s gonna be now that I’m back in the field, we’ve got a lot to talk about.”

When I look up to him, he’s shed his jacket and tie and has stopped pulling off his cufflinks mid-movement. “AJ. That’s not what I meant. I’m hoping you realize that.”

“I get it. You want to protect me. I can protect myself.”

He chuckles. “Uh, I know you can. I know firsthand that you can. But it’s not going to stop me from being scared to death about something happening to you. You’re so reckless with your own life—”

“And you’re not?” I accuse. “Each mission, you’re reckless with your own life. I have access to the incident reports. It’s terrifying.”

“What we do is terrifying. It’s not like we can stop.” He starts to roll up his sleeves. I look away, afraid I’m going to be distracted. I’m too mad to be distracted.

“I’m gonna do what I’ve gotta do,” I say. “I’m sorry, Mac. If you don’t like it….”

“What, leave?”

My heart falls, but he’s right. That’s what I was suggesting. And we both know it.

“I know you were fine with dying alone in Siberia, but you’ve got to understand something. You’ve got people. You always had us. It’s time you stop pretending you’re a lone wolf.”

I slip back on my patron saint medal and evil eye. The cold metal jars me a little. “Maybe. But—”

“No. Stop it. You’re just going to negate everything I just said. You can’t think like you’re the only person that would be affected anymore if something happened to you. Maybe we can’t stop being reckless. But maybe we just… have to have more faith in each other. It’s not that I don’t think you’re capable. It’s just… I want to be the one to keep you safe. I know you don’t need me to. But I want to. And I want you to let me. Give me a chance to be on your side out here for once. Work with us, not against us. We can bring this guy down, but we’re gonna have to do it together.”

My heart jumps in my chest. I don’t know if it’s lust, anger, or something else entirely. “Fine then. Prove it.”

I can see his shoulders shift with his heavy breath. “Prove what?”

“Prove to me I need you. Prove to me why I can’t do this alone anymore. Because I need it. I need to see the proof. I spent eight years thinking about you, and hoping, and dreaming we would be together. And I never thought it would ever happen. Not after Rio, not after Siberia. So prove it.”

He looks at me for a beat. I don’t know where the challenge came from, but it slips from my lips before I can stop it. I’m afraid I’ve accidentally issued a different challenge, though, a word neither one of us could say. Not now. Not here. We both know why this conversation is happening, but even in the midst of all our carelessness, our recklessness, that’s one conclusion neither of us is willing to draw. At least not out loud. Not yet. We’re too emotionally stunted for that. We’re too guarded.

He steps towards me, and I step back, hitting the dresser. He lifts me up onto the dresser, pushing closer to me and my legs apart. It’s not forceful; it’s gentle, but strong. I lean forward, trying to kiss him, but he shifts back from me, just enough that I can’t reach.

He pushes the skirt of my dress upwards until my thighs are exposed. He pulls my knife holster from my left, gently sets it down on the dresser next to me. I try to kiss him again, but he just methodically removes my Colt from the holster, takes out the clip, and removes the bullet from the chamber while breaths from me. It’s enough to make my breath hitch. He refuses to kiss me, even though I’m already aching for it.

From here, he leans on his hand, resting on my thigh, and uses the other to touch the exposed skin on my back. It forces a shiver down my spine. He still doesn’t kiss me, as he inches the zipper of my dress down, down. I can hear my heartbeat in my ears, my gasp as he pushes the sleeves of my gown down, pulling my dress open. With barely a grace of his fingertips against my skin, he pulls my last weapon from my bra, setting it down next to me.

I can’t resist it anymore. I reach for his shirt, and I manage to get it untucked from his pants and the first two buttons undone before he grasps my wrists, holding them up and away from both of us.

“No. Stop it.”

I scoff. “Really. Really? Let me go.”

“No. I’m not gonna.”

He doesn’t smile. For the first time since this started, I’m truly shocked by his… intensity. I can’t help but lean towards him, towards his mouth, but he takes a step back, not letting go of my wrists.

“Either you stop, or I stop.”

“You could always tie me down,” I suggest with a smirk. He just shakes his head.

“If I have to learn, then so do you.”

I’m not sure what he means at face value, but something about his expression, the glint in his eyes, makes me stop pushing against his grip. I don’t think this is about the argument anymore. This is something else entirely. He lets go of me. Each movement I make now is slow and deliberate, like I want him to know what I’m doing so he doesn’t decide to stop. It’s enough to make my heartbeat so loud, it’s all I can hear and feel.

This whole time, I never wanted to be alone. I just wanted him.

I reach back and unhook my bra, then rest my hands against the dresser top. He pushes my dress further down, just down enough that he can take my bra and toss it onto the floor. I hope now, with my chest exposed, I’ll be graced with his mouth on mine, but he makes no movement or intention of fulfilling that unspoken promise.

Instead, he steps back from me, sliding his hands up my thighs. He takes my dress in his hands, and with the right grasp, I lift myself up and he gets me naked. With everything gone, he pulls me closer to the edge, closer to him, and I lean back on my hands. He leans into me. I’m holding my breath.

He just puts his hand over mine. I watch him curl his fingers around my hand; he doesn’t give me any warning as his other shifts from my thigh to my center. I finally draw a heavy breath.

“You and I,” he begins, running his finger over me, leaning over me, holding me, “You and I, we may have Jack, and Riles, and Bozer, but we’ve never allowed ourselves to get close to anyone else. Or, if we have, it’s ended in... in explosions and depression.”

He shifts his hand from mine and slips it to the small of my back, holding me so I don’t have to hold up myself. He slips his fingers inside me, and I’m trying to both focus on his words, his expression, keeping my breath in my heaving chest.

“I don’t let anyone close,” I admit. “I don’t. It’s easier. Because we both know what happens when...when we do. I never should have went after him. I just… I never had anyone watching my back before.”

He finally caves, kissing my neck. My entire body shivers. I don’t know what it’s from. From everything, I think. I finally start undoing the rest of his buttons, and he lets me, and finally, he draws out of me just long enough to take off his shirt, his pants. He’s purposeful: he goes to the door, he locks it. He switches off the light. The room is still illuminated by the ambiance of Istanbul. He finds a condom, then comes back to me, but I finally find myself again, getting off the dresser. I step towards him, and he steps back, his legs hitting the bed. With my gentle hand against his chest, he falls down onto the expansive covers, and inches up until he hits the pillows. I climb up with him, straddling him, leaning over him but not kissing him like he didn’t kiss me. I take him in to me, and he rests his hands on my thighs. It’s like I can breathe again, as I take him deeply. For a while, I adopt this slow pace, and that seems fine, but he is unsatisfied.

He pulls himself out of me and sits up, his back against the bed frame. I follow his beckoning; I’m blinded, I’m only thinking about him. Maybe that’s what this is really supposed to feel like. I take him into me again, and this time, I stretch out my legs, hooking them behind his back. I draw a heavy breath as he looks to me. We’re the closest we’ve ever been.

Maybe that’s what we were supposed to learn.

He grasps my hips, and we both take on a slow, deep pace, tightly wrapped around one another. I brace my hand against the bed frame, but he takes it back, placing it on his shoulder. Every part of me touches every part of him. Almost.

“I admit it,” I say, “I need you. I need you more than I want to believe. That’s why I’ve held onto… onto what we could be for so long. That’s why I wrote to you the first time. I always needed you, Mac. I always needed you. I never thought whatever that was would lead to… to this.”

He exhales loudly, he takes another loud breath, and then he starts to laugh. He starts to laugh, and it makes me laugh.

“You just described chaos theory. Even in the midst of chaos, we always end up back here.”

Like we both give up, we collide in the middle, only wanting each other’s lips. I reach for him, I only find him, and when I give up, gasping for air, he doesn’t stop. He kisses my neck, my chest, anywhere he can kiss.

I forget, for a moment, for several moments, we’re in Istanbul on an op. Right now, it’s just him, and it’s me. He pauses, his hands slipping to the small of my back.“I need you, too. More than I should admit.”

Between kisses in the shadowed light, the haze of the ancient city, I laugh. I laugh until tears stream from my eyes. I laugh until I gasp, grasping, shivering, shuddering. I laugh until he draws from me, until we fall onto the bed, spent. It may be love, I know. I’ve known that for a while now, but it’s more than that. It’s more than that.


	16. Amboulia: Without Council

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With her apologies said to the team, they all head into the op with a positive attitude. But that quickly goes awry in the hands of their true enemy and the one behind everything AJ had suffered this year— Murdoc.

_Four Seasons at the Bosphorus, Istanbul, Turkey  
_ **Next day**

I wake up in Mac’s arms, and I’m ready for a showdown. I shower, I replace my comms, and when we all reconvene in the sitting room, I’m looking at a schematic of the lounge area and the greater hotel vicinity Riles had brought up.

“First things first,” I say to the group. “I’m sorry for going rogue yesterday. I shouldn’t have done it. I need to remember I have a team now, and that I have people watching my back. It’s new for me, and I shouldn’t have tried to go after him by myself.”  
Riles gives me a smile; Jack, a nod. Mac doesn’t need to react. We had that discussion already.

Jack breaks the silence. “How do you wanna do this, Thea?”

I point. “I’m going to be at the lounge. I want Jack near the hotel proper, against the wall. You’ll have a wider shot there than any of us— a 180 view. I want Riles over by the river—strait, sorry, Mac—”

He smirks, and it makes me smile too. Jack harrumphs.

“What?”

“Good to know you two made up,” he says.

“Several times,” Riles says, squinting at me. She offers her fist to mine, and I bump it.

“Focus,” I say, pointing to the both of them. I can’t hide my own chuckle. “Okay, Mac, I want you on the opposite end. You’ll be covering the main exit in case something happens to me. They’ll have to go through one of us if they want to make it out, so all exits are covered. B, Cage? I want you two on standby. Hopefully this is an easy op for you two. You get the word from me, and prep the plane. If I need you to diverge from the plan, you’ll know.”

_“What, from the sound of your cursing?”_

“Love you too, Sam. Now, I know you’re not all comfortable with this plan. I’m sorry for going off on my own and approving this meet. But I also know you’ve got my back if it goes south, and I’ve got yours. I’ve got faith in us. We’re capable of this. We can keep each other safe.”

Mac crosses his arms, the smirk still sitting on his lips as he straightens.

“Alright, Phoenix. Let’s do this.”

* * *

I settle into my seat at the lounge. If something happens to me, at least I know I have backup breaths away. It’s a new feeling, having that safety net. I think I could learn to like it.

“_I’m set, and I’m watching cameras,”_ Riley says.

“Good. Guys, just remember. I can do this.”

_“We know,” _Jack grumbles. “_Don’t gotta like it_.”

“I don’t care. Listen. Don’t be a hero when you can be smart.”

“_Coming from Athena herself_,” Cage says.

“_Easy way to say ‘don’t be stupid_’,” Jack harrumphs.

All is quiet on the western front. As I check my watch, I realize it’s slipping towards nine-fifteen.

“Anyone got a 20 on this guy?” I ask.

“_Nothing. No visual,” _Riley mentions.

“_Hang on, got a suspicious figure walking into the gardens,” _Mac says. I turn around. There’s a man in black, looking entirely suspicious, traveling through Mac’s sector. _“I’m gonna check it out.”_

“Be careful,” I say to Mac.

“_Aren’t I always?”_

“Don’t make me answer that.”

I sip on my coffee, watching for anything suspicious, anything out of the ordinary, but there’s nothing.

There’s nothing, until the explosion.

A loud bang shakes the hotel, enough to shift some of the glasses behind the bar. I hop off the bar stool and look out over the courtyard… there’s fire. There’s an explosion. It blooms through the garden.

Mac.

And he just left his position.

There’s yelling over the comms, and a cry that sounds like Mac. I think he’s calling my name, right before it cuts out.

Chaos breaks out, and I curse myself. We should have scanned the area better. We should have looked for traps, or, or—was this my fault? Did I not check well enough?

Is Mac in danger because of my plan?

Jack: “_I’m abandoning my position.”_

“Go. Riles, get me a view of what’s going on. Riles? Riley—”

I don’t have eyes on Riley. My comms buzz, and I realize mine have gone out. They’re all gone and I’m alone again. I’ve got no one watching my back.

And against my back, I feel the familiar touch of a barrel of a gun.

“Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who’s the fairest of them all?”

I turn slowly. I see the owner of the voice. All I know is Murdoc looks nothing like his mug shot. He’s much more terrifying in person.

I have to make a choice. Why the hell is he here? I can only answer it with the simplest explanation: this was all a ruse. There was never any meet. This was always how this would end up.

“This is your doing, isn’t it, Murdoc?”

He shrugs, leaning onto the bar. My hand twitches. I wonder how fast I can draw and shoot. Maybe before he can shoot. He holds it within his jacket. At least he knows what I’m capable of.

“Oh, of course it is, Athena. What do you expect from me?”

“What the fuck do you want.”

“No need to get antagonistic,” he says with a smirk. “Let’s have a history lesson, shall we?”

I look around. I still don’t have a visual on the rest of the team.

“Don’t worry. I took care of your little crew. We’ve got plenty of time to talk, so here it is: Tinos. Dubai. Tokyo. Can’t take credit for that mess in Rio, sorry! That was MacGyver's little friend, the Ghost. Sarajevo, just last year. Even my attempts to get you in Siberia proved... fruitless.”

And just like that, he confirms all my fears. This entire time, while the team was hunting him, I was hunting him too. And he was hunting me. I thought I knew everything. I thought I had all the intel. Looks like my pride got the best of me again.

There won’t be a third time.

“As you well know, I have a standing promise to Matty Webber and the Phoenix Foundation. I’m going to kill every last one of you. And you’re fairly high on the list. Not quite as high as MacGyver or Webber, but you’ve given me such a good stage to set our play.”

“Why did Thornton have me hunting you?”

“She probably hoped I would take you out sooner or later. And I don’t mean for a margarita.” He paces around me, a step too close. I’m about to take him out right here, right now, but there are too many screaming civilians. “I tried to text you, but you just ignored me.”

Another fear confirmed. I should have listened to the team. “I don’t swipe right on psychopaths.”

“It’s a shame, really. Well, I better get going. I have a lot to do.” He leans forward to whisper in my ear. “I am not participating in fruitless acts anymore, Athena. You’re going to have to make a choice. Consider yourself warned. I can’t wait to kill you.”

He starts to walk away, but I immediately follow him, drawing my own weapon. “You really think I’m gonna let you walk away like that?”

“I think you’re gonna let me walk away, because I have your friends. Or, I will. Just give me a couple of minutes. Sleep tight!”

I turn just quick enough to see the man I christened Boris coming up behind me. I dodge, but he starts shooting into the crowd. I can’t shoot back. There are too many innocents.

So I bail. I run in the other direction. I have to recalibrate, I have to think—

It feels like I’m hit with a baseball bat. The pain blooms across my back. The familiar smashing of a bullet hitting my vest. It forces the breath from my lungs, and I fall to the ground, my hands hitting stone.

* * *

I wake up in the same place I collapsed, still breathing. I’m still alive. How long has it been? It can’t have been that long. I don’t think it’s been that long. There’s blood on my head, but it’s not much. 

There’s still screaming, though. That means this bomb threat hasn’t been resolved. He just put me out of play long enough to… to...

They’re all gone. Murdoc is here. And he just blew up part of the hotel complex. I start running towards the bomb site.

People still scatter. They’re running from where I expect the bomb went off—I fight against them running towards it, unholstering my Colt in the process. The pipe bomb—at least, that’s what it looks like—destroyed a superficial section of the gardens around the hotel. I don’t think anyone’s hurt, but I scan the area. In the darkness, I find no one.

It’s a distraction. It’s all been a distraction—

Another explosion. This one rocks me. I’m thrown to the ground, it’s too close, it’s like Rio—my ears hum. I see fire. I see fire, and I see something resting on the ground near the debris from the first bomb.

I struggle to my knees. As I get closer, I realize what it is.

It looks like a shrine. Three items, surrounding a centerpiece: a brown leather cuff, a broken tablet, stabbed with my own butterfly knife; and a red Swiss army knife. In the center is a fake, shimmering, golden apple.

God. I know what he’s doing.

I snatch up the items and start towards my hotel room. Within three minutes, I’ve changed into my tactical gear, replaced my weapons and shouldered my backpack carrying my Valkyrie sniper rifle.

_“AJ? Can you hear me—” _Matty cuts through. I can barely hear her.

“I hear you, Matty.”

“_Can you tell me what the hell is going on?”_

“Cage, Boze, can you read me?” I say, slipping Mac’s Swiss Army knife in my pocket and snapping Jack’s cuff in my wrist. I slip a couple bobby pins onto it for later. My breath still is ragged, and it hurts, but I can’t care right now. “I need you to prep the plane.”

“_What? Why?” _Matty says._ “I need a damn update!”_

“Here’s the update, Matty: your intel was bad. This was a set up. Murdoc is here. He’s kidnapped Riley, Mac, and Jack, and has left me a seriously sick clue to where he’s going. No more fruitless acts, he said. I would have to make a choice. The golden apple made it abundantly clear.”

“_It’s not clear to me!”_

I head out of the room. It’s at least a half hour drive to the airport. Murdoc doesn’t have that much of a head start, but he’s got enough to make a serious problem for me. When I make it outside, I know I have to improvise a little.

I still manage a smirk. The police have been called over that little explosion—I look around to see what kind of numbers they’ve got. Not enough. Even we weren’t enough for Murdoc this time. He got us on this little practical joke.

“Listen, Matty. I love you. We’ve known each other for a while. So just listen to me. Cage, get the plane ready. I’m going to be there in… about twenty minutes, as long as I don’t fuck this up.”

_“Harper, you gotta tell me your plan—”_

He should have never left his motorcycle running with his police lights on. That’s his own stupidity.

I jump on and I’m gone before they even turn around. I’m not fucking around this time. I can’t have them die on my account. I fucked up. This was mine. This is my fault. This whole thing was my fault: had I seen the bigger picture, I would have realized this was all Murdoc.

_“Captain needs to know the flight plan.”_

“Hang on, Matty, weaving through Turkish traffic isn’t exactly like LA—”

“_What, no breakdown lane?”_

“Every lane’s the breakdown lane! Destination: Edremit, Turkey.”

“_I still need to know your plan, Harps!”_

“I’m still working on it!”

It takes me eleven minutes to get to the airport. I blow through the gate, barely stopping the motorcycle long enough to get off. The plane is already taxiing as I board. Cage and B immediately barrage me with questions.

“The comms went out, what the hell is going on?!”

“B, I need you to let me think.”

Cage sits down and fastens her seat belt. “Murdoc got all of them?”

“It’s to spite me. I have to go in alone.”

“Like hell are you goin’ in alone,” Bozer says. “Jesus, AJ, you’re bleeding.”

“This is Murdoc we’re talking about,” Cage says. Apparently she’s been warned. “If AJ thinks she needs to go in alone to maintain their safety, I trust her judgement.”

I nod. I’m barely listening to them. My brain is blank. I have to figure it out, but nothing’s coming to me.

I pull my hair back, using a few of the bobby pins I had grabbed before. But I have to remember. I know exactly where he’s going. He’s left me all the clues I need.

“Send an exfil team to pick up our gear,” I explain over comms, cringing. “B, can you grab me that other vest?”

“Which one?” He asks, fumbling with our supplies. He finds my set of vests and compares them. “There’s more than one type—”

“Doesn’t matter, just give me a new one,” I say, pulling off my button down and then my vest.

“What the hell happened?” Cage says, lifting up my tank top and checking my back. “You’ve got a bruise back here. It’s not horrible, but you’re gonna need some medical—”

“Not important,” I say, grabbing the new vest from B. I strap it on, my hands already shaking.

“Stop. What is going on?” Cage says, putting her hands over mine. I take in a deep breath. It still hurts, but her presence helps. “Cage, B, I want you to meet up with a tac team. Matty, can you get one?”

_“I’ve got to backstop a few covers, but I have one leaving Syria now. We’ve got some men at the embassy in Greece I can pull. May be an hour or two.”_

“Good enough. Here’s what I want from you two. Stay on comms, track my phone. If I go dark, haul ass to my last.”

“We should go with you,” Bozer tries, but I shake my head.

“Look at what just happened. There were four of us. I don’t want you mixed up in this mess.”

“You’re gonna need backup,” Cage says.

I already know what he wants of me. I don’t want them involved in this too. I’ve hurt enough people at this point. “He’s taking them to Mount Ida.” I start buttoning my shirt back up.

_ “How do you know?”_

I check my clips and start strapping them to my hips. “He left me this,” I say, holding up the damn apple. “How’s your Greek mythology?”

_ “Spotty, at best—”_

“Mine’s damn good. He’s staging the Judgement of Paris. The dramatic asshole has cast himself as Eris, the goddess of discord, throwing the golden apple into the middle of the party. He’s taken Mac, Jack, and Riley to represent Aphrodite, Hera, and… and Athena. And Mount Ida is where all this supposedly went down.”

Cage looks at me, confused. “What’s so significant about this, other than a fever dream of a murderous psychopath?”

I cock my gun. “It’s one of the only times Athena ever lost.”

* * *

_Mount Ida, Edremit, Turkey_

It’s slipping into the late afternoon sun by the time I find myself hiking up Mount Ida. Actually, I’m closer to Koca Kaya; in the fog, I can still see the shadows of black, working somewhere near the cliffs. He’s coaxing me down, down over the mountain, towards what I recognize as the Altar of Zeus.

I know better. I know I need to wait. And when I begin my descent closer, I pause to take out my sniper rifle.

I’m not taking any chances. I settle into the brush, high above where he wants me, and position. Spying through my scope, I see a lot of preparation happening: Murdoc seems to be at his finest, his happiest.

I see another man, though. He’s working with Murdoc. I suddenly realize: the man from the meet yesterday. I didn’t know his name, but I had called him Boris. He’s been working with Murdoc all along.

The small mountain of a Russian man has Riley. She’s definitely unconscious, but alive. Somehow, Murdoc has set up a death cave inside the Altar. He tosses Riley down inside.

I don’t know how they grabbed Jack. It’s nearly impossible to grab Jack. They must have threatened him or immediately knocked him out. They get rid of him too. I see blood on his shirt.

Mac, as I expected, is the worst. From here, I see the same injuries as Jack has, but more numerous. I see some secondary blast wounds. Nothing big, just enough. He was too close to the bomb.

I think I know what happened: distract them with the bombs, get them close enough to hurt but far enough to not kill. Mac was somewhere in that sickeningly sweet spot. He lulls a little, trying to regain consciousness, it seems. He doesn’t look good, and my time table just got moved up. I’ve let Murdoc have too much fun.

Murdoc forces him down on his knees. I see him in my scope. There’s blood on his lips. My heart breaks.

_“Alright, Athena,”_ I jump. Murdoc speaks in Mac’s ear. I didn’t realize he fixed their comms. “_I know you’ve made it here by now and are probably lurking on some high perch, but you’re gonna have to come down and deal with this.”_

He draws away from Mac. Murdoc says something to him, but I can’t make it out. Instead, I hear Mac’s voice. It’s rough, probably from smoke inhalation, from pain, from fear. He draws a quick breath, then speaks quickly: _“AJ, if you can hear me, don’t do it—”_

Murdoc rears back and kicks Mac in the stomach. He went off script. I look away from my scope. When I hear his voice again, he’s hoarse and his breathing is labored.

_“Don’t bother looking for the dossier. He’s already destroyed the only copy. He had planned on destroying it in Siberia by killing you.”_

I set my jaw. I could take a shot at Murdoc. I could just kill him now. 50 yards. Child’s play. I remember a quote from a book my dad read once: the evil like power, power over people, and they want to see you in fear. They want you to know you’re going to die. So hope like hell your captor is an evil man. A good man will kill you with hardly a word.

_“Since you failed, he had to do it himself. So—” _Murdoc pulls Mac upward by the throat, hissing into his ear. “—_So this is really all your fault, Athena.”_

I cock my weapon. All I have to do is line up my sights and pull the trigger.

_“I wouldn’t take that shot if I were you,” _He says. I feel like he’s looking right in my direction. I don’t know if he could hear that, but he sure as hell couldn’t see it. _“You’re going to have to make a choice. You trade yourself for them, or I kill them. It’s that simple.”_

I wait. He has no confirmation that I’m on this mountain, does he? He has no idea. He could be talking to air, for all he knows.

He pushes Mac back down and pulls out his gun, waiting patiently. Mac wavers, unable to move, it seems; Murdoc cocks his gun. Mac looks up in my direction, wherever Murdoc is looking, and it’s like he hopes I’m there. I see a nearly imperceptible shake of his head.

Murdoc’s not going to kill him. Not like this. This isn’t his ending, this is mine.

“I’m waiting, Athena!” I don’t need the comms to hear his yell.

A good man will kill you with hardly a word.

Mac closes his eyes. I make the decision. I aim at Murdoc, breathe in, focus, and fire.

Murdoc drops, and Mac tries to move out of the way, but Murdoc trains his gun on him. I should have hit him through the heart, but it appears he’s got on a vest. A good vest. Fuck. This just went from bad to worse. I think I pissed him off.

“Shoulda taken the headshot!” Murdoc calls out. I’ve revealed my position, so I don’t care how much noise I make on my descent. I’m to the altar before Murdoc even stands up again. Mac is still there, on his knees. I drop his knife into his handcuffed hands, and he stows it in his sleeve. I don’t have time to say anything else.

By the time Murdoc stands up, I draw my Colt and fire. He ducks out of the way, and even though it was point blank range, I miss. I see movement out of my periphery—I have just enough time to duck out of the way of a wide punch from Murdoc’s henchman. Or whoever he is. I don’t care. Murdoc—I don’t have a twenty on him. He’s gone. That’s okay, I need to deal with this guy first. Gotta square up to someone bigger than me.

But Mac is gone. Murdoc took him, too.

I grit my teeth. “I haven’t fought anyone in a long time, so you’re gonna have to excuse my aggression,” I say, trying to distract him. I go low. He’s a big dude, so he’s gotta have a lower center of gravity. I’m right. He goes down, giving me enough time to get away and jump down the staircase of the Altar.

“What the hell are you doing?” Murdoc says, seemingly to his crony. He rips Mac to his feet and bodily heaves him away from us. “Can you keep her distracted, please?”

I can see through a small opening in the altar. Jack and Riley are inside. He’s rigging up some sort of trap. I don’t see anymore because I’m picked up and thrown.

I shake out the pain in my head from skidding across the rocks. He’s coming towards me, and I hear a gun cock.

“No killing her!” Murdoc yells.

It doesn’t matter. I kick his gun out of his hand and shoot him square in the chest. He wavers, sure, but he doesn’t stop rushing me.

“Jesus Christ, where do you find these people?!” I groan.

“Craigslist!” Murdoc responds.

I unload the rest of my clip into him without regret. He finally goes down with a thud.

“It isn’t difficult,” He continues. “People want to be given orders to be vicious. It frees them from the moral responsibility. Don’t you wish you could be freed from your moral responsibility, Athena?”

“What do you know about moral responsibility?” I ask, reloading my gun and getting up. I don’t have a visual on Murdoc. I make the damn decision: I pull my phone out from under my vest and smash it under my foot. I need backup, and I—

Click.

I stop dead in my tracks.

I know the sound of a sniper rifle all too well. I hold my hands up and turn around, seeing Murdoc training his on me. This looks bad. It could be bad. I can handle this.

“You’re smart. I know that, you know that. So you know why you’re here. It’s time you make a choice.”

“Athena didn’t make the choice at the Judgement of Paris,” I say. I’m trying to find my options, but there’s not a lot out here in the open. I think he’s about to give me my choice. And I think I know what it’s going to entail.

“Maybe not, but what fun would that be? Here’s the deal, Harper. It’s you or them. Easy peasy.”

“You let them live, and you kill me,” I correct, and he steps towards me one more time. I step backwards. I don’t want him to shoot at this range. Oh my God, I just realized—my vest. I don’t know which one Bozer gave me. If Murdoc shoots, I could die or live, depending on the rating on my vest.

I don’t want to play that game of Russian Roulette.

“Sure, whatever, they’re going to die eventually anyway,” he says. “Starting with that boyfriend of yours.”

I hold my breath. He just chuckles.

He steps towards me, I step back. “Of course I know. I make it my business to know what MacGyver is doing at all times. Or in your case, who he’s doing. No matter. You’re just a pretty little piece of leverage to me.”

“Aww, you think I’m pretty. I didn’t think you had a soul.”

“I don’t. Tick tock, little goddess.”

“Make the switch.”

He stops. His mouth upturns into a wide grin. “You know full well relationships are a weakness. You wouldn’t be in this situation if you just let them die, you know.”

“Relationships… relationships are a weakness?” I let out a laugh. “You’re trying to burn down the world looking for your son, and you think relationships are a weakness? Being fucking alone is a weakness! Thinking you can live your life alone is… is a weakness,” I say. My voice breaks a little as the realization hits me. I can’t let them die. I can’t.

He paces in front of me. “And there you have it. Why the hell would I let any of you go? I have you exactly where I want you.”

I draw a breath, but it’s no matter. He shoots, and I don’t have enough space to move. If I drop, it’ll be a headshot.

By that point, I feel impact. I drop to my knees. The impact shudders through my vest, but it’s still enough to make me feel like the wind’s knocked out of me. But it’s more than that. I know it slipped through the Kevlar. This one won’t be the thing that kills me, though.

Still, as I gasp, I thank God for Bozer. He doesn’t realize it, but he saved my life. At least for now.

Instinctively, I drop my hands to the ground, trying to catch my breath. Nothing’s gonna take you down like a sniper rifle shot to center mass. Murdoc’s shadow appears over me.

“Your confidence, it’s truly inspiring,” he says. “But—”

I toss a handful of gravel into his eyes and kick his gun from his hand.

“Mayday, mayday,” I wheeze. “2562 Little Owl—Cage, B, I need backup—”

He rushes me again, and I fight to grasp his sniper rifle. He’s trying to aim, but not at this range, he’s not. I try to kick out his legs, punch, do anything, but I have nothing.

“Go ahead and call for help, but I knocked out your comms,” he whispers. I ram my knee into his stomach. He doubles over. I try to get him into a headlock, but he drops, smashing me against the hard rock. I see stars. My vision goes black, then double, then fades back in.

He winds back with the butt of his rifle, but I blackout before I can feel the pain. When I gasp back to consciousness, just moments later, it’s all I can feel. I look down. I see blood, I see bone. My leg is shattered.

“Did you know a human femur can withstand a ton of pressure before breaking?” He says. “But a baseball bat against a baseball, or, perhaps a butt of a sniper rifle, creates four tons of pressure.”

Excruciating. I have to take stock. I don’t think he hit my femoral artery. It’s a slow bleed. It’s a slow bleed, a slow death. I can’t even hold my breath in my chest. That burns too.

I can’t die now. I can’t die, because I have to save my team. My team.

Murdoc holds the butt of his sniper rifle against the break. He pushes. He pushes hard, and this time, I hear the snapping. More of a compound fracture. A sound, a piercing sound, echoes through the forest. Oh, I know what it is. My scream.

It’s nothing like before. It’s everything like before. Before, the pain was blue. This pain was red, blood red, dark red, heart-red.

I don’t even try getting up. My body won’t be able to hold myself up. I’m dead now. I’m dead, but they don’t have to be. My hand slips to my neck. One to help me stay out of trouble, one to help me if I get into it. Neither helps me now.

“A war goddess and a martyred saint. That’s a lot of pressure to put on an infant, but you seem to have..." he drifts, grasping at my neck. "Actually, you did not grow up just fine. I stand by my first statement."

With that, he rips the chains from my neck. I can barely feel them break.

“I wish I could tell you it didn’t have to be this way, but that would be a lie,” Murdoc whispers.

My hands shake. I reach for my Colt. He smashes my fingers on my left hand. He gives me enough room to try to crawl, but I don’t know where I’m thinking I could go. I can come up with a weapon, where’s my gun—my backup’s on my ankle, but I don’t know if I can reach.

“Just give it up, Athena. Do I have to do everything?”

He winds back. My head hits stone, and I’m unconscious again.


	17. Kalliste: The Fairest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Murdoc thinks he’s won, and AJ is nearly certain he will. After sustaining life threatening injuries at the Altar of Zeus, AJ knows she’s all but dead. The only thing left is to save her friends. But can she even achieve that in what little time she has left?

**Unknown  
** _Unknown_

I’m unsure of everything when I wake up. I’m not even sure how to formulate thoughts, let alone words. It hurts to breathe. What happened? Wait—I’m restrained. My leg is throbbing. I try not to put any weight on it, but it’s not working. I’m chained to a wall by my wrists. God, everything hurts, everything burns. I’m shaking. What the hell is happening?

My eyes are hazy, but I can see Mac. I see Mac, and Riley, and Jack, and they’re restrained too. Mac looks a little more so. Each has a… an IV attached to them. There’s wires everywhere. I can’t see them all. I can’t focus long enough to see them. God, why can’t I focus?

I have an IV too. And there’s… there’s a camera? The world tilts once more. I can’t keep my head up.

“One false move, and I destroy you all. Each one of these has a particular poison I’ve chosen for each of you, and each of you is connected to another person. You move, your friend dies. Got it? Good. You don’t follow the rules, I’ll set it off myself. Also, if you don’t sort it out in fifteen minutes, you all get injected.”

Murdoc… why is Murdoc here? Why is he talking? My head lulls. He grabs me by the neck. I feel my feet lift off the floor. “I hope you can sort out your own little strategy before_ your _Athena dies. Have fun making your choice.”

He tosses something to the ground. I can’t see it, but I hear tinny metal. I can’t see much of everything. And suddenly, he’s gone. All I hear is my own breathing. It’s ragged.

I let my head lull back against the wall. It’s the altar of Zeus. He’s put us inside. I have to get… I have to get to my phone, but I see my hand’s connected to a wire. It’s connected to something, that’s connected to something…

“I don’t think she can hear me. Thea. Thea, you there?”

My eyesight is stained red. I’m sweating. Why the fuck can’t I focus?! “Walk? Walk, what are you doing here…”

“Baby, I’m here, and we’re gonna get out of this,” he says to me. He looks so worried. Why does he look so worried? He’s got blood on his cheek. It’s dripping onto his shirt. “I don’t wanna die in Turkey. This is on my top ten list of places I don’t wanna die.”

“What are we gonna do, sort ourselves out of this little Rube Goldberg machine of death?” Riley says, her voice squeaking a little. “And only you would have a list!”

I try to see the lines, the wires, and where they lead. If I move too much, it doses both me and Mac. Of course it does. That’s depending on whether I even get my right hand free. And then there’s the camera. It’s just over my shoulder on the wall…there’s a timer, counting down…. My Athena? What did he mean?

Something’s not right with me. Something’s already wrong, and I can’t focus. I can’t be poisoned already. No, I don’t feel like I have been.

This is something different entirely. Wait. I’ve felt this before. Excruciating pain. This time, from everywhere in my body. It’s sharper this time. Last time, the drugs slowed me down. This time, all I have is my own body, trying to kill me.

“Man, her leg is broken, bad,” Jack says, almost under his breath.

“He shot me too,” I gasp. “Twice.” It’s getting hard to breathe. I really need to get this vest off, but I can’t move. I’m locked against the wall. They’re like medieval prison chains with new padlocks. I don’t know how we’re going to break out of this. I don’t have the strength to break out of this. “Are you guys okay? Did he hurt you?”

Jack glances to Mac. They share a long look. “We can have this talk later, okay, Thea? Let’s figure a way to get out.”

“We’re wasting time,” Riley says. She has blood along her hairline.

“Riles… Riles, are you okay?” I lick my lips. I taste blood.

She sighs, and although she looks pained, she says, “Yeah, AJ. I’m okay. We’re gonna get out of this.”

I squeeze my eyes shut. I don’t want to die. I have too much to tell him. I look to Mac. He’s bloody and broken, too. His lip is busted. He’s got a bruise around his eye. He’s tied up just as much as the others, but more wires are connected to him than the rest of us. If he does anything, he’ll hurt one of us, and that’s his worst nightmare. He won’t budge.

“We… we need to find a way to disable the camera,” Mac says under his breath. I don’t know if there’s a microphone but I don’t think he’s going to risk it. “Look. That’s where the controls are. He can’t set things off remotely if he doesn’t have control over the device. Then all we have to worry about is weaving our way out.”

“Sorry to disappoint you, hoss, but any bit of movement is gonna trigger one of us to get the stab o’death,” Jack whispers back. “So use that big old brain of yours and logic your way out.”

He’s taking too much time. Each second ticks by, and it’s a second closer to us dying. There are criss-crossing wires, ones I can’t even see because I can’t focus my eyes. I thought the adrenaline would have kicked in by now.

God. I thought this would go away by now. This biting, piercing, throbbing pain. I should have slipped into unconsciousness by now. Or at least shock. Maybe I am, and I just haven’t processed it yet.

I hear them all make various gasping noises when I realize my legs give out and my wrists are the only thing keeping me up. Something shifts. Something rips. My wrist cracks, and I cry out. I’m too close to the wires leading to Mac. I can do this. I can be better. I can’t be the reason he dies.

“I’m sorry,” I mutter. “I’m sorry. I can’t… I can’t stand up.”

“Use the wall, babe,” Mac says. His voice cracks. “Lean into the wall. There… there you go.”

We shouldn’t even be in this situation. Murdoc is right. This is all my fault. I have to figure out a way to fix it.

“Just give me a second,” Mac says.

“We don’t have a second,” Riles says. “None of us do!”

“Stop panicking,” Jack says, trying to stay calm. He’s calm, so it’s terrifying. I’ve only seen this a couple of times in my life. I can’t do this. I can’t.

“Everyone stop!” Mac calls. His eyes well with tears. “He’s not going to kill all of us. That’s not his style. We just need to… to stay calm. Let me think.”

“He gave a clue,” I say. I realize. “‘I hope... you can sort out your own little strategy before your Athena dies’. Mac’s… Mac’s Athena in this scenario.”  
“What scenario are you talking about?” Jack says.

“The Judgement of Paris,” Mac explains. “Greek mythology. Long story short, Paris had to judge which goddess was the fairest: Athena, Aphrodite, and Hera. That’s what Murdoc’s doing.”

“If Mac’s Athena, Ri has to be Aphrodite, and Jack’s Hera,” I say.

“But a lot of good it’s gonna do us,” Jack scoffs.

“That’s how he picked the poisons,” Mac says. “If it comes down to it, we may have to know, but for now, let’s try to make sure none of us have to deal with it.”

But they’re taking too long. They keep talking. They keep saying where the wires move, where they connect to.

“If AJ can get her left hand free, she can reach up and pull out the battery from the controls,” Riley says.

“No, because if she does, she sets off her own wire. Give me a second. I’m almost free.”

I gave him his knife. Yeah, I remember it now. I… I gave him the knife, and he’s picking the padlock. I try to focus my eyes. But his padlock wire leads to himself and to Riley. He can’t jinx that.

Wait. He said it. My left hand is only connected to my own wire. It’s not on anyone else.

I make the realization. Murdoc planned for this. He planned for me to have to make a choice.

But I see what he meant by a choice: I can either let us all die, or kill myself. That’s what was always going to get me: my pride. That’s what put me here in the first place. That’s what brought me to this point. It was always going to be my downfall.

This is the third time.

This is the last time.

We only have five minutes left before we’re all poisoned. I’m already dying. I know I am. The blood loss from my leg, if it’s not dealt with, will kill me sooner rather than later. I can feel myself racing towards that inevitable conclusion.

Maybe the poison won’t hurt. Maybe it’ll be quick. It’s unlikely. I’m sure it’s going to hurt. But after a while, my body will shut down, and that’s that.

Then it’s over.

I can’t even say I wish I had died before, because it would be a bold faced lie. Five months. Five months I never should have had with him.

Four minutes left. I remember my sporadic movement from earlier: I slip the bobby pin off of Jack’s cuff. I bend my broken wrist, even though it causes me to clench my teeth, and I feel the padlock give way.

My sight is still blurry, but I can make out Mac. He’s thinking, he’s trying to sort out an answer, but the time keeps ticking down. We finally make eye contact.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I’m so sorry, Mac.”

His eyes grow wide and he almost tries to move, but he’s too late. My already broken hand, slick with blood, slips through, the padlock falling. It triggers the wire, the syringe, and I see the liquid, the poison, slipping, dripping, into my bloodstream. I do what I can to try to pull it out, but it’s too late. The syringe has already triggered, and the poison is in my blood.

I reach up, I stretch up, crying out as I put my weight on my broken leg, and rip the battery from the camera. The clock immediately shuts off.

The poison takes effect almost immediately. I don’t know what it is. It’s nothing I’ve had before. The dizziness, the headache, slips past my defenses first, and I start to collapse against the wall. Only my right wrist holds me up.

I see Jack, and he basically rips his arm out of his bonds.

“Don’t!” Mac cries. “You’ll set someone else’s wires off! We’ve got to… to do it in the right order!”

It’s like bomb disposal, I realize. I watch him. I watch them as they try to unwind the wires. It takes too long. Too long.

I close my eyes to help stop the dizziness, and when I open them again, all three of them are loose, frantic. Riley’s calling my name, but I can’t hear her. I can only read her lips. They’ve ripped their IVs from their arms. That’s what he wanted. That’s what Murdoc wanted.

I’m going to die here. He knew one of us had to die.

The pressure releases from my wrist, and someone lays me down on the floor. The IV is gone, but I think the damage is done. We’re too far down this road now. It’s too late, too late.

“Riley, get a message to Cage or…or Bozer, or someone…” Mac tries. His voice quavers.

“I have nothing to use,” She tries. “Mac, I have nothing. Murdoc took everything.” She wipes the blood from her hands on her pants, still shaking. She’s shaking. I don’t want her to be terrified.

“My phone,” I say. “It’s… it’s under my vest, but I think… I think it’s broken. Wait. I broke it outside. Bozer and Cage… I told them to find me if my signal went out. There’s a tac… a tac team on it’s way.”

Riley lets out a heavy sigh of relief.

“It doesn’t matter,” Mac says. He’s trying not to panic. I’ve seen it on his face before, in Siberia. “I don’t know what he gave her, so I don’t know how much time we have, even if they’re coming. Jack, get us out of here. I don’t know… Dammit, I don’t know!”

Jack immediately goes to the window, the small window, and I see where Murdoc has built back up the bricks he tore out to get us in here. They start pulling at them, the soft grout, until the bricks start to fall.

I’m looking at brick ceiling. I reach for whatever Murdoc tossed to the ground, and I find the chains. I take them into my fist. I’m looking at nothing, and then my eyes are open again.

“That was incredibly stupid,” Mac tries, holding my head steady. He’s trying to keep me awake. It’s different this time. It’s more raw this time. I can taste it. “You should have let me help.”

“There wasn’t a better way,” I try, but my mouth is going numb. It’s numb, and it burns. I’m getting waves of heat and then cold. “We didn’t have time.”

“There’s always a better way. You didn’t listen to me.” He’s pleading. He’s not wrong, nor is he angry. He’s trying… he’s keeping me talking, I realize. “You should have just… you should have listened to me.”

“Mac, we got a hole!” Jack calls out. Riley snakes her way out, onto the stairs outside, and Jack follows suit. Mac picks me up. I cry out. Any sort of movement sends waves of pain from my neck to my toes. But Jack grasps me as they pull me out, and I’m outside again. To fresh air. To the fading sun. The setting sun. The altar of Zeus. It’s not big enough for a chopper landing. They’re going to have to go somewhere else.

The sun is starting to set. The sky is orange. It looks like it’s on fire. I feel like I’m on fire, slowly, from my toes, everything starts to lose feeling.

“What can we do?” Riley is asking. “What can we…”

Mac clutches his head. “Stop! Just stop. Just…” With a deep breath, he lowers his voice. “AJ, can you tell me your symptoms? What’s going on?”

I’m starting to shake. I don’t want to see the blue. The shadow people. This isn’t like that. There’s no hallucinations. It’s just a heartbeat and pain.

“I’m dizzy. I’m… I’m sweating, my head hurts….”

“He must have nailed her good, Mac,” Jack says quietly. “Some of these might be related to the beating, not the poison.”

Mac holds up his hand to tell Jack to stop.

I try to focus, but my vision is already fading. Mac holds my face steady. Tries to wake me up.

“AJ, talk to me.”

“I can’t feel my legs anymore,” my voice says. I sound like I did in Siberia. It’s getting harder to breathe. I’m so cold.

He checks my pulse. I’m sure it’s not good. None of this is good. But I look around. They’re safe. Mac, Jack, and Riley are safe. Murdoc. Murdoc—

"Where did Murdoc go? Do you... do you have his location? He couldn't have gotten far. He could be still... still on the mountain. He could be regrouping. You need... you need to tell Matty. We need a team. We need a team to check the mountain. If he has a camp, we're... we're dead."

Mac doesn't even care right now. “Numbness, weakness. Her heartbeat is dropping… it should be rapid from blood loss. That’s from the poison. Difficulty breathing, sweating, dizziness, confusion…” He perks up. “It’s aconite. Wolfsbane. They call it the Queen Mother of Poisons. Murdoc didn’t want her living through this one. Hey, AJ? Listen to me, you’ve got to stay awake.”

Jack perks up. “I hear a chopper.”

“Go find them, bring them up here. We need out of here fast. Make sure you tell Matty that Murdoc can't be far. We may need another team!”

He starts to take off my vest. I realize now I can’t feel the chains of my necklaces around me, and it becomes obvious: that’s what Murdoc ripped from me. That’s what I had clasped tightly in my unbroken hand. I never noticed. Not until now. Now, they’re wound together, knotted, probably unable to be torn apart. I see tears welling in his eyes.

“Good luck charms,” I say. But my voice is already giving out. It was another time we’re together that makes it hard to breathe. I realize I can’t. I’m losing feeling. I don’t want to lose feeling. Not again. I’ve spent too long without feeling, and now that I have it, I can’t let it go away.

“We need to stop the bleeding…” he tries. He’s distracted, he can’t think either. I can’t think. “We need to… to stop the bleeding.”

He takes off his belt. I can barely feel him now, I can’t hear him as he gives directions to Riley. She’s pale. She’s scared. I don’t want her to be scared. I reach for her, and she grasps my hand in hers, the necklace chains leaving bloody trails on her skin.

But she talks to Mac, and she takes off her button down plaid. I always like that one. Mac starts using it to stop the bleeding. I gasp for more air, but my chest, it throbs. Something’s stopping me. Broken ribs, gunshot wounds, maybe.

My sight goes in and out. By the time Jack comes back, saying they’ve landed, they’re coming, I realize Mac has tried to stop the bleeding in my leg. But I don’t think it matters. Not at this point. The pain is so strong now that it’s all I can feel. Pain, numbness, it’s all shifting in waves.

I’m dying. I’m really dying this time. With each beat of my heart, it gets weaker. I don’t have anyone to call this time. No, they’re here with me. They’re beside me this time. I’m not going to die alone this time.

It's better that way. But this time, I can’t stay quiet. I can’t. It’s not better if he doesn’t know. I have to tell him. I have to.

“Mac. Mac, y-you can’t blame yourself,” I say. “This isn’t your fault.”

“AJ, don’t do this,” he says. He shakes his head. Riley’s face looks like her heart is breaking.

“This isn’t any of your fault. This was my choice. It was…. It was always going to end this way. I’m surprised I made it this long,” I chuckle, but it just hurts.

“Stop, Thea. Stop. You’re gonna be okay,” Jack says. He’s already crying. He’s not allowed to cry yet. This is escalating too fast.

“Jack. Take care of them for me. Riley…”

She takes my bloody hand in hers. She doesn’t care. The tears stream down her face, and she nods, like she knows already. She knows. I don’t have to tell her.

“Tell B I’m sorry. T-tell him. Promise me, if I can’t do it myself.”

Riley just nods, nods hard, nods vigorously. She’s crying. She’s not trying to hide it this time.

But Mac is still thinking. I can see it on his face, I can see him looking for the tactical team. He’s getting more and more pissed. “Dammit, where the hell are they?! Jack, where are they?” His voice echoes throughout the mountaintop.

“They’re comin’, Mac, they are. But…”

Mac doesn’t stop the tears rolling down his face. “But nothing! They need to move faster! She… She’s…”

Jack and I make eye contact. He just nods. He touches my good leg, my unbroken leg, and heads off to find the tac team.

I’m never going to see him again, I realize. I’m never going to see my Walker again.

Riley looks up to Mac, and she gets off her knees, following after Jack, but I can hear her sobbing. She wanders off, near the edge of the cliff, her shaking hands covering her mouth. She’s illuminated in sunlight.

“Mac, this isn’t your fault,” I try again. “This isn’t your fault.”

He’s still fussing, he’s touching my hand, he’s looking around, he’s not fucking focusing—

“I was going to tell you in Siberia,” I gasp. My sentences are too long. I can’t keep up. My breath can’t keep up. “I didn’t want to hurt you. I didn’t want to break you.”

The beginning of the end. For real this time. Let me die, let me die. I’m already dead. It’s not worth fighting anymore. He has to know.

“You should have let me… you should have let me protect you,” he says. “I know you don’t need me to, but I wanted to.”

“And I wanted to protect you,” I try. I cringe against the painful breaths, but I keep pushing. “I should have told you. I-I should have said it before. I should have…” I nearly fade. It’s like the lights are fading around me. But the pain is starting to lessen. I thank God for that.

He holds onto my face. He steadies me, he’s panicking. He’s so scared. I’m scared too. I don’t know what I’m reaching towards. “AJ, c’mon. The team’s coming. Don’t do this. Not to me. Not now.”

“I looked for you. For eight years,” I say. I use my strength to put my hand over his, still on my face. My fingers barely curl over his. “All the letters… everything, even the ones I never sent... are in a box, in my closet. All of them. I want you to read them when I’m… when I’m…”

He shakes his head, he’s mouthing words, but I can’t hear him. I never got to say goodbye before. I need to now. I may not have had the strength before, I may not have been sure before, but I’m as sure now as I’ll ever be while I’m alive. And I have minutes left.

“I love you, Mac,” I say. I feel every word, deep in my chest. “Why do you think… why do you think I’ve tried for so long to find you?” I feel like my heart skips a beat. It’s not the good kind. “Thank you. For these last few months. I’ll miss you. But we… we turned it into a lifetime. I love you. I loved you.”

I shut my eyes, and I feel him rest his forehead on mine. I feel tears mixing in with the blood on my face. I don’t know whose they are.

“I meant what I said on our last op. The… the proposal,” he says. “I didn’t know how much I needed you until… until Rio, and then you left again. I need you, AJ. You can’t die. It took me until Siberia to realize… I love you, okay? I love you.”

Tears fall from my eyes, and I slip, slip. I finally told him. I told him, he knows. God I’m going to miss him.

He checks my heartbeat again. It’s going to stop soon. I can feel it. He checks it. He’s resolved now. The tears stop falling and he perks up.

“Wait!” He calls out. “Riles—Riles, can you get back to where we were held?”  
Each word I hear is far away. “Y-yeah?”

“Get me the—the drug and needle you had. Do it!” He cries. She runs. Jack’s back. “Heart rate is about 40. C’mon, Riles, go fast. Jack, I need your help, and you’re not gonna like it.”

“I’ll do it,” Jack says immediately. “Dose me.”

“I don’t need to dose you,” Mac says. Riley’s back. She grasps my hand. “I just need to put a drop in your eye.”

“Could it help Thea?” He says, although I can tell he’s a little wary.

“It could buy her just enough time.” Mac is panicking. I hear it in his voice.

“Do it.”

“Heart rate’s dropping,” Riley says.

Mac draws a heavy breath, a chuckle, a desperation. Something he did to Jack yielded a result. “This is nightshade. Belladonna. It dilates your eyes.” I feel a needle slip under my skin.

“‘Beautiful woman’,” Riley says under her breath. “Aphrodite.”

“Atropine is used against aconite. It raises the heartbeat. AJ, you just gotta hold on. Please. For me.”

But I’m tired. I’m so tired.

“Don’t leave me, AJ. Not now.”

I’ve done enough. I’ve done more than enough.

I close my eyes.


	18. Paiônia: Healer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s a long road ahead for AJ, and most of it is a coma dream. What is reality, and what isn’t? At this point, AJ doesn’t care about the difference. All she wants is for the team to come through on the other side, whether she does or not.

**Unknown  
** _Unknown_

It just feels like a rambling dream. I don’t know what is happening, whether I’m dead, or I survived this. I don’t know how I would have survived this. I would have died in Turkey. I should have died there.

I said goodbye to Mac. I… I said goodbye to all of them. At least, that’s what I thought. No. I’m walking down the steps of a building. It’s sunset—the sky above is a rich blue, but off to the west is a brushing of oranges, reds, and purples. The sky is clear, and finally, the image is clear.

I look down. I’m in white. The dress has no embellishments, a wide sash at my waist, a deep V-neck and flutter sleeves. It looks like a cross between old Hollywood and… and a Grecian goddess.

I have both necklaces. They’re on new chains. They’re not bloody anymore.

“You ready?”

Jack’s in a suit, offering me his arm. He’s already crying. I can’t even make fun of him as we walk down the sidewalk, towards the statues, towards the sun dial. Off in the distance, I see the Hollywood sign.

Mac’s there in a vibrant blue suit. I look down to my hand. The engagement ring is back.

This was never supposed to happen. This is a dream. A haze. A rambling dream.

Still, I try to hold onto it as it disappears.

I’m a stark white room. I mean, it might be a room. There’s nothing around me. All I see is white. I don’t even know if I’m standing. I start to run. I run, but then there’s nothing. Nothing ever changes.

I’m lucid dreaming. I’m forcing change, but it’s like I’m in a cartoon. I want to go back. I want to go back to Griffith Observatory. I want—

Mac holds my hands. We’re in front of the sundial. When I look out to the few seats, I see the important people: Jack, Riley, Bozer, Jill, Sam. Matty stands on the steps up to the monument there, closer to our height. Mac clears his throat.

“I don’t believe in coincidences. You know that. So when you and I met, I think… I never knew if we were meant to be, but we were meant to be… something. It’s kind of like… it’s like chaos theory. No matter how hard we or the world tried, we just kept going back to each other. Whether it’s the definition of insanity, or…” He lets enough time for Jack to stop giggling. “Or if it was always love, I’ll never really know. But now? I know what it is now. You and I, we both know there aren’t a lot of certainties in this world or this line of work, but you? You’ve always been a certainty.”

I step down a hallway. Each framed piece of art is like a memory: my first Red Sox game, nearly getting arrested in the Town. Basic training. Joining Delta. Meeting Jack. Finally meeting Mac. It’s like a breath of fresh, clean air. It’s like I’m breathing again.

There’s something in my throat. I want to claw at it, but I know I can’t move. Not right now. Not in my current state.

What is my current state? I’m still not sure. I’m not sure. I feel like I should know, but I’m not positive. I’m ripped back into that fake reality, pulling and pushing until I’m back and my hands are in Mac’s. This time, I’m talking.

“I think I can say this in front of this group of people,” I say, looking out to the tiny crowd. It’s small, but it’s enough. “We don’t always get a lot of time. We don’t have time to discuss what we’ve done, or been through, so we cut to the chase. And with what we do, we have to live each moment like we won’t get it again. It’s kind of like working on a team.” I glance to Jack. “So. I vow to always have your back, regardless of what we’re running into.” Sam, looking radiant in red. “I’ll always tell you the truth, no matter how badly it hurts.” Bozer. He’s not hiding the tears rolling down his face. “Even when we’re apart, you’ll always be my family.” To Riley. “You’re my best friend, my backup, my overwatch.” I turn back to Mac. “You’re my team. From infil to exfil. You can count on me to get you home.”

“And you can count on me to get you home,” he says. But this is louder. This is real. I feel like he’s there, with me… How?

I almost fall back into the dream, but I keep pushing. It’s like I’m pushing through the jungle. There are branches and leaves and trees and the humidity thrusts down my throat like a hot knife, but I keep pushing. Eventually, my feet hit a cliff. There’s rushing water below.

A rushing clarity.

“—they stop the drugs?” Bozer.

I hear a voice. I hear voices. I recognize them.

“Thirty hours ago.” Jack.

“How long until we should worry?” Bozer again.

“Seventy-two.” Mac. Mac’s here. He sounds hoarse. He sounds close. I want to cry out, I want to scream, but I don’t feel like I can. The most I can do is move my hand, reaching towards where Mac’s voice is.

“Dude. She moved her hand. I saw it.”

“Don’t mess with me, Jack,” Mac says. I feel his hand on mine. He’s touching my fingers. He runs his thumb over my knuckles, on my right hand. I try to grasp his fingers in mine. It’s like all hell breaks loose.

“She’s waking up. Get the doctors.”

I know I respond, I know later that I did what I had to do, but my memory is lost. The only thing I know is that Mac knows.

Mac knows.

* * *

The chaos starts to lessen. My breathing tube gets painfully removed, but it’s gone. I can breathe on my own. From here, I start to get snapshots.

The first one, of course, is Mac. He clasps my hand in his, stroking his fingers down my knuckles. I know he knows I’m at least a little aware. I can still respond to stimuli, react. It’s the stage between coma and consciousness.

“Matty wanted to send me on a mission and I flat out refused,” he says, looking down at my hand in his. “At first I was afraid she was gonna tattle on me to Oversight, but I know she’s not. She found another team, I think. But there’s no point. I’m not gonna be able to focus. Putting us in the field right now would just be putting our lives in more danger than usual. So we’re grounded. We’re grounded for a while, at least. For however long it takes for you to wake up.”

I squeeze my eyes shut. The tears slip from my eyes. I can’t make them stop.

“Please wake up. I know you can hear me. I need you to wake up.”

I’m already fading again. He kisses my forehead.

“I love you.”

* * *

I don’t really see Jack, my vision is hazy, but he comes into the room with a laptop. He sets it at the foot of my bed. I hear him muttering to someone.

“Dude. You need to get some sleep. Some real sleep. At least get a shower and some food.”

Someone shifts in the armchair next to me. I glance to him. Mac fumbles to extricate himself from the chair. He could look better. A few bruises shadow his face, but they’re turning yellow. I don’t know how long I’ve been here anymore. I hope it’s not incredibly long. I don’t want to lose more time than I have to. Not with Mac.

“I’ll leave when she does.”

“Mac, be reasonable.”

He scoffs. “You? Tellin’ me to be reasonable?”

Jack rolls his eyes. “Really, though. You wanna look like that when she finally pulls out of this mess?”

I exhale heavily, just once, and both of them chuckle. I’m lucid enough, I think, to react, but I can’t communicate. Not yet. I’m still one foot in the haze, trying to pull myself out. Still, Mac leans down and kisses my forehead.

“I’ll be back later.”

“I got this,” Jack says, stealing Mac’s seat and turning to me. “I brought us somethin’ to watch. Figured you could use a little cinematic pick me up.” He fumbles with the computer, then presses play. I wish I could smile, more than I’m sure I was doing, but he starts to laugh. “What did you expect from me, Thea?”

_“You don’t like flying, do you?”_

John McClane, on the laptop, again. Me, broken, trying to recover, again. It’s like a broken record, but one thing remains: this time, I’m not alone.

Jack grasps his fingers in mine. I’m already falling asleep, but I have enough energy to clasp his hand in mine.

“Love you, Thea.”

* * *

“What about chicken paprikas?” Bozer is saying. He’s pacing, he’s writing in a notebook. “I know you’re a breakfast girl, but my technique isn’t that special for pancakes or waffles. Ooo! We should do crepes!”

I give him a thumbs up, and he immediately writes it down. “Oh, with chicken paprikas, you need homemade spaetzels. That’s a given. We should do pierogis too. I haven’t made them myself in a while, but we can learn together. What about corned beef?” He suggests. He’s making me dizzy from pacing. Another thumbs up. He furiously writes it down. “I could eat my weight in corned beef,” he says, almost in a prayer.

He’s been the most calm one lately. I don’t know what it means, but he just works on his little notebook, pacing, talking about recipes and the movie he’s envisioning. He wants me to be in it this time. I had to agree. That was the only hand motion I could muster.

If I get out of this alive, I’ll do whatever he wants me to do.

“Duck a l’orange! How could I forget that? I make a mean duck. When you’re out, when you’re healthy again, we should do this. Make a huge meal. Forget about this.”

And there, he slips. His voice cracks as he looks down at the floor. But with a shift, with a blink, with a sigh, he’s back.

“Gyros. Definitely have to do that.”

* * *

“Are you done yet?” Matty calls out in a loud voice. Several other people in the room begin to clear out, and I try not to laugh. I mean, I really can’t, but she’s making it that much easier to want to.

“How many times to I have to tell you, Mac, get out of here. Go sleep. Go… shower.”

He lets out a grumble. She pushes him a little, and he finally gives, pulling himself out of the chair silently. Matty steals his chair after pulling it closer to me.

“So here’s the deal, Harper. If you don’t stop this now, this whole… minimally conscious bullshit, you’re fired. It’s as easy as that. So buck up, wake up, and let’s get back to work.”

I nod once. She catches it, and she starts to smile.

“AJ, you need to get better,” she says quietly. Almost under her breath. “I value relationships in the team, I really do, but you’ve got them all messed up. I desperately needed to send them to Afghanistan to help with a Taliban attack on Mirzawalang, but I had to send a different team instead. Because of you. I need you back on your feet. Or at least talking. I know you don’t say much, but I would appreciate it if you did. And a lot of us would be functioning again. We need you. Blondie needs you.”

She leans back into her chair, clearing her throat. I think I see a bit of emotion.

“And if you tell anyone this conversation happened, I’ll say it was a coma dream,” she whispers quickly.

I give her a thumbs up. She just covers my hand with hers.

* * *

Sam comes by sometime either in the early morning or late at night. Mac is completely asleep, curled up on what looks like a couch they brought down from the war room. Sam takes the blanket laying in a pile at the foot of my bed from where I had pushed it down and covers up Mac. He shifts a little, nestling back into some sort of restless sleep.

She sits down in the chair next to me. I don’t know how long it is before she speaks.

“He’s loved you for a long time. It doesn’t take someone like me to see that.” He stirs in his sleep, and she glances back to him until he slips back. “So if you do this for anyone, do it for him.”

* * *

“I hope you like the color. I mean, I picked it, and I know you’re not really a girly girl, but I think it looks nice and it gives me a reason to get out of the lab.”

She scrolls on her tablet, trying to find where we left off. “Okay. So, here we go,” she says, finishing up painting my nails a nice bright red.

“‘Do you know why I sponsored you, Fletcher?’ He asked, looking Fletcher in the eye.”

She’s reading to me again, and I’m trying to follow the plot, but I think I’m going to have to just borrow it from her someday. Maybe someday. If I get out of this mess. But the longer I fight, the clearer I get.

“‘My bravery in the face of certain death?’ Fletcher joked, catching Arcturus’s expression and hoping to lighten the mood. ‘No, not that!’ Arcturus replied with a chuckle. ‘Some might say that you made the wrong decision there. An officer must learn to sacrifice good men so that the rest of his command can survive. So too could you have given up your money in exchange for your life. But I must say I was impressed. You were cool under pressure and you took a calculated risk. Good officers are pragmatic and calm under fire. But the men and women who rise to greatness are the risk takers, the gamblers. Those who take all or nothing.’” She drifts a little. “That sounds like you, AJ. All or nothing.”

She checks my nail polish and fixes one of them. “I’m glad you’re getting better. I can’t keep seeing MacGyver and the rest of the team like this.”

* * *

It’s a process, but at one point, during the tests, the words start coming to my lips. When that happens, Riley’s in the room with me, lulling herself to sleep as she curls up in one of the chairs there.

She just touches my hand, eyeing my fingernails.

“Jill was here, wasn’t she?” She asks quietly. “She had a matching manicure. She’s doing surprisingly not well, you know. None of us are doing well. Sam is quieter than usual. Jack just… he just keeps snapping. He’s not making as many jokes as usual. I’m sure they’re coming in, and talking to you like nothing’s wrong, but we all see it. Matty doesn’t look like she’s sleeping. I think she’s known you for too long. And Bozer just won’t stop cooking. I don’t know why he’s cooking; I’ve never seen that as his coping mechanism before, but it’s like he’s finally snapped. And Mac…”

I squeeze her hand. It’s not an uncommon reaction, but I need to speak, I need to wake up. I’m nearly there.

“AJ, Mac is a damn mess. He’s never… he’s quiet, he barely ever leaves here or the war room. He doesn’t talk to anyone. He just… he’s just existing.”

I lick my lips, but she’s still just… touching my hand. Stroking my fingertips.

“Moj dragi mali miš,” I murmur. I can barely make a noise, but it’s loud enough to make her jolt upward.

“AJ?”

“My dear little mouse.”

She gasps, tears jumping to her eyes. “We’ve been worried about you.”

“How long?”

“A day in Naples. Two days at Landstuhl, stabilizing you. Matty called the Vice Chief of Staff of the Army to get you admitted there. They put you in an induced coma. It’s been three days since we made it back to LA.”

“Six days?”

She nods. “I should call the doctor. I… I need to get Mac.” She starts to chuckle, to laugh.

“Not yet,” I say. “Just… just wait.”

She wipes the tears from her face. “You said goodbye to us.”

“I was dying.”

“You’re not dead,” she counters.

“Where’s Jack? Where’s… where’s Mac?”

“Much to Matty’s dismay, they’re camping out in the war room. Let me get the doctor.”

I’m exhausted, but I go through the barrage of tests. I try to stay awake. I try to not slip back into the unconsciousness I’ve been so used to lately, because Riley pokes her head back into my room as the doctor leaves. He speaks to someone outside. I think it’s Matty.

“She’s still coming out of the medically induced coma, and she’s going to have a long, hard road ahead of her. But she’s going to live through this.”

“Thank God.” Matty’s voice. She’s usually harsher than this. She’s almost quiet. “Thank God.”

I sink into the pillows. “Can we see her?” Mac’s outside. His voice cracks.

“Don’t overwhelm her,” the doctor says.

Matty doesn’t hesitate. “Blondie. Go.”

I’m still hazy, but when I look to the door, he leans on the door frame, crossing his arms across his chest. A little disheveled, like he’s been sleeping wherever he could find. His eyes look red, tired, exhausted.

“You look horrible,” I say. “Get some sleep.”

He looks both offended and exhausted and relieved. Relieved. He laughs, and something tells me he desperately needed it. “I’m sorry, you’re telling me I look horrible? You’ve been in a coma for six days.”

I chuckle, but it hurts. “How bad?”

He sits down in the chair next to my bed. It’s kind of become his chair, I think. The quiet between my question and his answer is too long.

“Your femur was broken in four places. Your hand and wrist, broken. Some more broken ribs and an impact wound from the gunshots you took to your vest. Then there was, you know, the poisoning. They put you in an induced coma due to the hit you took to the head.”

I eye the cast on my hand. “I… Bozer saved my life,” I murmur.

“What?”

He gives me a moment to try to breathe on my own, to try to remember how to speak. It's hard enough. "I got shot. Needed a vest. He... he gave me the highest rated vest. I... I wasn't specific. He saved me."

He doesn’t say anything. I don’t think he can.

“Don’t…. Don’t scare me like that again. Please. I know we’ve talked about this, and we both know we can take care of ourselves, but… don’t do that ever again. You can argue with me all you want. It’s non-negotiable. If we’re both going to work here and we’re both going to… “ He starts again. “If you and I are going to be ‘us’, you have to be willing to work with me and let me keep you safe. Because I can’t do this again. I won’t do this again.”

I feel the tears welling at my eyes. I know he’s right. This was my doing, not his. And while we all survived, I need to trust him. I need to trust us.

“I’m sorry,” I muster. “This was never your fault. You needed to know. Life’s too short for that bullshit, even if it hurts.”

He musters a smile. That’s the reason I pulled out of the coma. To see his smile again. He looks up at me. I see a few cuts and bruises that have begun to heal. I hope it’ll be the same for me. It’s going to be a long road. Longer than it had before. But I realize now I don’t have to do it alone.

“I don’t regret saying it,” I whisper. “I need you. And I love you.”

He leans forward, touching my jaw, and kisses me. I never thought I would feel it again. I shut my eyes, the tears still threatening to form, and he rests his forehead against mine.

“I love you,” he says.

I start to fall asleep again as he kisses my forehead.


	19. Pallas: Warrior

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Against all odds, AJ made it through the worst of what happened in Istanbul, leaving her with another six months in rehabilitation. This time, though, she had a support system, making it a completely different situation. Still, as her comfort waxes, her anxiety wanes as she waits for the next bad thing.

_Hollywood Hills, LA  
_ **September** ** **

I’ve fought my way through, but I’ve finally gotten to the point where I can use crutches. At least poorly. It’s been a month. A whole month.

They’ve finally kicked me out of the infirmary, and although Matty’s made it very clear to me that I’ll have six months to a year to recover, I’ll have a place when I get back.

I got the official report. A pistol whip— no stitches this time, but still painful. The first gunshot just broke a couple ribs, while I got a blunt force trauma wound from the sniper shot. Mostly bruising and pain. Broken hand, fingers. Wrist. The worst, though, was my left leg. Murdoc nailed me. Broken in four places. They had to put in an intramedullary rod: I didn’t have to have a cast, I can apply a little weight, but still have to use the crutches. Since it was so bad, they’re thinking at least six months before I’ll be close to normal, and at least a year before I can get out in the field again.

Matty’s also reminded me I have about 400 sick and vacation days collected over the years, so I’m good for now. They’re going to make sure I’m taken care of.

As Mac drives me back to his place, he tells me all about his latest mission: Azerbaijan, a casino, and a jewelry heist.

“You were in a suit again, weren’t you?” I say as I stare out the window of his Jeep. The Los Angeles air still somehow tastes sweet as we take the drive from my place back to his house. I finally got a real shower and some of my stuff. They’re not letting me live alone, not yet, so it seems the Hills is where I’m going to be for the time being. Bozer has already called it a Three’s Company situation. I think he’s more happy about it than Mac is.

“I was,” he says, smiling. “Until I had to use my jacket to pop off the handle of the vault, and shove the nuclear bomb inside before sealing it again.”

“You didn’t disarm it?!”

“I didn’t have time!” He laughs.

“And you think I’m reckless?!”

“You are,” he says, glancing to me. Every time he smiles, I feel like my soul heals. “I was 30 feet from it when it exploded.”

“How are you not a member of the X-Men now?!”

“Do you not know how radiation works?”

“I know how radiation works. You’re the one who taught me how radiation works. I just wanted to get a rise out of you.”

He rolls his eyes and pulls into his driveway before coming over to my side. He very nearly has to pick me up to get me out of the Jeep, and he finds my crutches from the back. He knows full well I don’t want the help, but I’ll take a little bit of his worrying. Still, it’s a little awkward for me, with a cast on one hand and a major situation on one leg. I struggle with my crutches and he’s not willing to help me until I stop at the stairs up his porch and blow my hair out of my face.

“I want food. Real food.”

“I know you do. You always do.” He holds out his hand to try to help me, but I just glare at him.

“Have you ever left an infirmary culinarily fulfilled?”

“I try not to spend extended stays in infirmaries,” he says, half rubbing it in my face and half laughing. But I’m still hurting. My muscles aren’t working the way they should, not yet, and even that brief trek, I’m exhausted again. He just watches me.

“Can you help me?” I ask, and he starts to unlock the door.

“I can.”

I let out a huff. “If this is how it’s going to be this entire time, I swear to God, I’ll find a new boyfriend. Bozer would wait on me, hand and foot.”

“You wouldn’t want someone to wait on you,” Mac says. “But yes, I appreciate you asking.”

It’s a new thing. It’s a new thing, me asking for help. Actually having someone to help me. He grasps my waist, sneaking a kiss on my cheek before helping me step up onto the porch and then through the door. I can smell the fire burning already.

After adjusting my crutches, I poke my head through the porch doorway. “What have you planned—”

Jack lets out a loud roar, and the rest of the interlopers cheer as well. Matty, and Jack, and Riley, B, and Sam all mill about the porch. Bozer’s already at the grill, while Jack rushes to greet me and try to help me up the stairs.

“Ask her first,” Mac says cautiously.

“What if I give her a hug and manage to pick her up at the same time?” Jack offers. Mac grabs my crutches before they fall, and it’s an easy trek from Jack’s arms to the nearest adirondack. I adjust, the pain still blossoming through my ribs and back, but it slips away just as soon as it comes.

“So this is my view for the time being,” I say, looking out past the fire and my friends to the lights of LA.

My friends.

“However long you need, girl,” Bozer says. I blow him a kiss. God, I love him.

“I love you, B,” I say. His beautiful face just blossoms into a wide smile.

“So, can we do it?” Jack says excitedly. I don’t know how many beers he’s had, but I’m sure he’s had enough.

“Can you give her a second to breathe?” Mac chuckles, leaning onto the support beam not far from me.

“Before we do anything, we need to have a conversation,” I say, and everyone’s smiles start to fade like I’m about to drop a sad truth. “No one has given me an update on the Red Sox.”

Mac starts laughing and gestures towards Bozer. He pulls up his phone. “Since they were in LA, they've lost 18 games and won 24. They're in business. Uh, they play at home against Tampa tomorrow.”

“You did the research, didn’t you?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

I blow him a kiss. “Okay, I’m good, what did you want from me?”

“You know what date it is, right?” Riley suggests.

“I’m drawing a blank? You know I’ve been in the hospital for weeks, right? Some of that time I spent in a coma?”

“Cut her some slack,” Matty says. “It’s September 7th.”

I look around the group. I didn’t know they knew. “Holy shit! When did that happen?!”

Mac drops a kiss on my head as he walks by. “Happy birthday.”

“Jill couldn’t be here,” Matty says, handing me a small gift. “I made her work, so she sent this along.”

I don’t know how to function. I look around to the others, and they’re all peering, waiting.

I unwrap the gift slowly, and it’s a book. _The Novice_. It looks like something completely out of my typical fare, but I liked what I heard. I think I’m going to actually read this one. Maybe Jill and I can have a book club.

I’m still a little shell-shocked as Jack brings an immaculately wrapped box to me and my chair.

“I know Walker didn’t wrap this. It was Riley or Sam.” Riley immediately points to Sam, and she just smiles.

“Jack and I went in together on this. Thought it was appropriate.”

I quickly rip open the paper, and when I slip open the box, it’s a brand new Colt 1911.

“We know you lost yours, and you kind of are attached to that model,” Sam says. I sigh in contentment, fighting the tears springing to my eyes.

“Thank you. Really. I’ve felt naked without my 1911.”

“I know,” Sam says, with that annoyingly perfect interrogator voice.

“Mine’s not clearly as perfect, but it’s got heart,” Bozer says, taking a moment to walk away from his grill to give me a moderately well wrapped rectangle. When I open it, it looks like a journal. I flip to the first page.

“Bozer’s Book of Recipes?! B, are you gonna finally teach me how to cook?!”

“Figured you’d be around a lot, so it’s time. You keep that close. There are secrets in there.”

I hold it tightly to my chest. I don’t know how much more of this heartfelt conversation I can take.

Riley doesn’t give herself any preamble, and instead hands it to me with a poignant smirk. I rip off the paper, and it’s a photo in a simple metal frame, decorated with paper clips.

The photo inside, though, is what makes my heart nearly stop. I shouldn’t make that joke, because it almost has several times this year, but I can only see it for so long before the tears well and spill over.

It’s of Mac and I, intertwined with one another, at Disney World. He leans his forehead on mine, both of us laughing, wearing those ridiculous t-shirts, in front of Cinderella’s castle as red, white, and blue fireworks explode overhead. I never knew she caught it. I never knew.

I try to casually wipe away the tears, and Mac takes the photo, looking at it until his smile fades. No, not fades; shifts into something else. I look up to Riles. She just smiles. She knows what she’s done.

Matty’s next, and she seems to have some sort of explanation with hers. Bozer and Jack and Riles and Sam all turn back to their conversations from before, leaving us three in relative isolation.

“In the couple of weeks we spent rebuilding Phoenix after Murdoc’s little intrusion, I had the opportunity to reorganize some storage in my office,” she explains. “I managed to find something tucked away that Thornton had hidden and I figure you’d like to have them back.”

She drops a box half her size next to me. It’s open, and there’s piles of envelopes inside. Stamped, postmarked, red lines and redirects. I pick one up. It’s my handwriting. Specialist Angus MacGyver. Ghanzi Province, Afghanistan. My hand shakes. This one was from 2012. I remember. Five years ago.

“Apparently, Thornton spent years making sure you two didn’t communicate. What you see is the start of her collection— when she started casing Mac for DXS.”

I pick up another one. This one is in Mac’s neat block letters. There’s piles of them.

“From what I could piece together, she was terrified of you two working together. She was sure you would figure her out, so she made sure you never found each other. Rio was her first mistake. She never made it again.”

I look down into the box. There’s got to be dozens. Thousands of words.

I pull Matty into a hug. She seems surprised at first, but I feel her hand on my back. “Thank you. Thank you, Matty.”

As she pulls away, she yells something at Jack and he stops doing whatever it was he was doing wrong. I watch them as the chaos ensues, and I remember the last time I came home from the hospital. Then, I ended up alone.

It didn’t have to be that way anymore. I think I’ve learned from this mistake. With a sigh, I look to Mac, who’s pulled up another chair and sat on the side so he could lean on my armrest.

“Thank you. For all of this. For everything.”

“I haven’t given you your gift yet,” he says.

“What? You haven’t?” I whisper. I brush back the lock of hair that falls over his eyes, and he just manages to smile at me. I don’t need a present, really. He was enough.

“First, here.”

He hands me a small box. It’s unwrapped, so I just slip it open. It’s my Jeanne d’Arc medal and the evil eye charm, cleaned, on a single, new chain. They’re together now, like they should be. Like in my dream. He takes it and I lean forward enough for him to link it around my neck.

“Thank you. I didn’t realize you found them.”

“They had to pull them out of your hand at the hospital,” he explains. “They were so tangled, I had to break the chain to fix it.”

“Thank you,” I repeat. But he’s not done.

“I talked to Matty, and as soon as you’re healed enough to travel, and whenever you feel good enough, as long as we’re not on an op, we can borrow the Phoenix jet and take it home.”

“Home?”

“To Boston. Do the Freedom Trail and finally go to Union Oyster House.”

“Are you serious? You’re serious. Mac. Really?”

“Really,” He says. “Take me Kipo's and show me where you played baseball and—”

I cut him off, kissing him. It feels like the first time again, six months ago. When I was so mad at him for things he never did. When I was upset, and disappointed, and holding a grudge against someone who always would be a part of my life. When I tried to push away one of the only people I’ve ever truly loved.

The only reason I’ve kept myself from happiness was my own damn pride. That’s what the old Gods always gave the worst punishments for, wasn’t it? Hubris. I’ve learned my lesson now. I’ve been punished enough.

As the sounds of my friends echo out across the Los Angeles skyline, I pick up one of the letters from the box. It’s a little dirty. It’s addressed to me.

So many angry words are written in those letters. But I know there are kind ones, too. There are deep secrets and funny stories. Terrifying fears and things I never would have said out loud. But he and I can read them together.

I should have never survived Turkey. I should never have survived Siberia. Both times I tried to fight a battle I wasn’t equipped to fight alone. And both times this team showed up to save my ass. I’ve missed the mark one too many times lately, and I don’t plan on making the same mistake again. From now on, I can make my own future, and I choose to stop being alone. I choose this. I choose him.

“There’s one thing you’re wrong about,” I say.

“Oh? What’s that?”

“I’m already home.”


End file.
